


Alternate POV Fics

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-04-01 23:39:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 51,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4039033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I asked Tumblr for prompts to do scenes from my fics from alternate POVs, and I'm putting what I do up here, in case anyone who does not follow me on Tumblr wants to read them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Worth the Trouble and Worth the Pain - Clarke POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3949930)!

Despite everything, Clarke still wasn't really sure Bellamy would be the one waiting for her at the altar when she gets to the great hall, and the wave of the relief she feels when she sees him nearly bowls her over. All of the tension that's been plaguing her for--well, honestly, for _years_ suddenly leaves her, which would be nice, except that it's replaced with utter exhaustion. She barely slept last night, and what sleep she got was plagued with nightmares that nothing would go wrong, that she'd marry Finn and have to spend the rest of her life with him. She imagines it's not the kind of thing brides usually fret about before their wedding days, but most brides pick their grooms.

It didn't get better when she finally dragged herself out of bed either, because her mother was still convinced something would go horribly wrong. Of course, Finn's fiancee showed up, so she wasn't wrong. And then there was the argument with her parents, which lasted for _hours_ , before her mother finally threw up her arms and agreed she could just marry Bellamy. But she couldn't believe it, somehow. She was sure her mother would have sneaked Wells in at the last minute. But there he is, next to Kyle, and he's going to marry her.

He does't look much better than she feels, honestly, dazed and a little green, but _there_. He agreed.

She offers him a smile when she reaches him, and he smiles back, a little wry. He looks like he might fall over, but he lets her take his hands when he's told, and he says all his lines, firm and confident. She's the one who needs coaxing, who needs his reassurance, and he gives it to her, just like always. 

And then he kisses her, which is--not exactly the kiss she's been dreaming of since she was thirteen, but she wouldn't want to have that kiss in front of everyone, anyway. And it is _nice_.

"Please tell me this was your idea," Octavia says, as she bustles Clarke away.

"Who else's idea would it have been?" Clarke asks. She didn't get a chance to talk to either of the Blake siblings beforehand, and she really wishes she had. Especially Bellamy. "Did you talk to him?"

"No. Duke Kyle said something, but he mostly just looked like he was going to fall over."

"I noticed." She worries her lip. "I thought he'd be pleased."

"He is," Octavia says, confident. "He's just too stunned to process it." She grins. "Believe me, he's _thrilled_."

Clarke was sure he would be, too. She never asked him about it, and it was only a little because she was afraid he might tell her he didn't think of her like that, that she was like another little sister to him. Mostly, either answer would have been awful to hear, in its own way. "I am too," she says, in case Octavia doesn't know. "I picked him."

Octavia hugs her quickly, and then helps her get changed out of her wedding dress into something less constrictive. "I'm very happy for you."

"I'm going to send Prince Finn a lovely wedding present." She pauses. "And his fiancee an even lovelier one."

Bellamy's already at the reception, looking nervous and out of place, but his color is at least a little better. He sits in a throne for the first time and looks wildly uncomfortable, and Clarke wants nothing more than to drag him away and assure him he'll be all right. He'll be a good king, she knows. He's smart and passionate and unflinching, and he can't help protecting people. He's going to be a great king, and he'll probably be a good husband too, if he loves her.

And suddenly, she can't deal with not knowing that anymore. She doesn't care if it's impolite, or if people will talk. She's married, and she wants to talk to her husband, in private, _now_.

"Thank you all for coming," she says, rising, and giving the crowd her most regal, serene smile. "But I'm afraid we have to retire. It's been a long day."

She's quite sure it's Kyle who lets out the first whoop, and she will have him executed for it someday. Bellamy looks mildly terrified, and her heart sinks. Aren't men supposed to be _excited_ by the prospect of the wedding night? Maybe Octavia was wrong. Maybe he's annoyed. She should have just had him kidnap her, and then she could have figured out how to seduce him after.

"Clarke," he starts, and she's not ready yet.

"When we're--in private."

"Sure."

He sounds so miserable that she has to say, "Thanks." It just makes him look worse.

All of her confidence and vehemence from earlier is gone. Maybe she'd be happier not knowing. They don't have to talk about this now. They can wait. They can never talk about it. They're married; he'll probably grow fond of her. Eventually.

And then he offers to sleep on the _sofa_. The _sofa_. He'll do it forever, she's sure. Bellamy Blake, the perfect gentleman who was never allowed to be a gentleman.

"How long are you planning to sleep on the sofa?" she asks, sitting down on her bed.

He runs his hand through his hair. They straightened it a little for the ceremony, but it's curling again, just the way she likes it best. "It's comfortable," he says, awkward.

"Someone might check the sheets." She doubts they will, but--she doesn't want to just tell him she wants to share her bed with him. She's exhausted and upset and all she wants is Bellamy to hold her and tell her he doesn't mind that she chose him. But she doesn't know how to ask, because he might say he can't do it.

"I've got a knife," he offers, almost desperate. "I--"

She flops back with a huff of laughter, trying not to do something stupid, like cry or yell at him. It's been a stressful six months. "You've got a knife, of course. You'd rather stab yourself than have a wedding night."

"Hey," he says, all fraternal worry. Typical Bellamy. "That's not--I just don't want you to--" There's a pause, and then he says, "I'm so fucking sorry, Clarke. I can't--I shouldn't have done this to you."

She sits back up in utter confusion. "Done what?"

"I was supposed to kidnap you, not marry you. I know this wasn't--you didn't want--I should have said no. I shouldn't have made you marry me."

"Oh. _Oh_." The world realigns itself, and she puts it together all at once. Of course he was nervous. She's never had any say in who she'd marry, and he didn't realize she finally had. And he agreed to do it anyway. Of course he's worried _she_ didn't want this. She nearly laughs, because it's so _stupid_ , the both of them. "Bellamy," she says, trying not to smile, "you aren't the one who should be apologizing. My parents were panicking, trying to figure out someone I could marry. My mother wanted it to be Wells, but, fuck, I tried marrying the person they picked, and I wasn't going to do it again. This was _my idea_ , Bellamy. It was such a disaster, they were desperate, I told them they could let me marry you now, or I'd do it when I turned nineteen and they could have Kyle for a king." She can't look at him, can't be sure she's not wrong. She doesn't want to see his face if he's going to let her down easy. "So, yeah. I'm sorry. I should have asked you, but there wasn't any time and I--I finally got the chance to pick who I wanted to marry."

"And you picked me."

"Yes. Sorry," she adds, just in case. But she barely even has time to worry before he's on top of her, pushing her down onto the bed and kissing her like he's been waiting for it just as long as she has, all force and clumsy passion, and she laughs in relief. He doesn't seem to mind, because he's too busy kissing her everywhere else, smiling like his face might break open. She's never seen him so happy, and for the first time that day, she's sure she knows exactly how he feels.

"I wish someone told me it was _your idea_ ," he says, when he finally manages to pull back and look at her. "I thought--fuck."

"What, you thought my mother picked you?" she asks, amused. She can't help adding, "I guess you don't mind." Just because she wants to hear him say it.

He does her one better. "I fucking love you."

She's sure she must have the most ridiculous smile on her face. "Good. I was pretty sure," she says, which is mostly true. The last few hours of nervous confusion aside. She leans up and kisses him too. He's her husband. She can kiss him whenever she likes. "Me too."

He laughs and buries his face against her neck. "So, I don't want to sleep on the sofa," he says, kissing her jaw. "At all. And I don't want to stab either of us."

"I thought the sofa was _comfortable_ ," she teases.

"I'd never been on your bed before. It's much more comfortable than mine. Princesses get all the nicest things."

She tangles her hands in his hair and kisses him. "We do," she agrees, and rolls them over. He grins up at her, and he's _never_ going to sleep on the sofa. Not when he looks so good in her bed. "The very nicest things."


	2. Read Books, Repeat Quotations - Bellamy POV on the plane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3999868).

Bellamy tries not to be weird about seeing people reading his book, which is actually impossible, seriously. The first time it happened, he tried to take a picture, out of sheer pride, and the guy thought he was being a pervert, and they nearly got in a fistfight before he got it sorted out. It was an inauspicious beginning to encountering his works in public.

He's really planning to not say anything to the cute blonde on the plane. She's clearly just started the book, probably bought it on a whim at the airport bookstore, and the flight is a few hours, so if it goes weird, it'll be weird for a long time. But there are a few strands of hair that she keeps trying to tuck behind her ear, and every few seconds, they'll escape again, and, fuck it, she's _really_ cute.

"So, how pretentious is that book?" he asks. It's been a somewhat successful line for him in the past, which he knows is weird. He tends to let his face do most of the work when he flirts.

"Sorry?" she asks. She has clear blue eyes and a mole just above her lip. Bellamy already kind of regrets this gambit. He should have figured out something better to say.

But it's too late now. "I read some reviews, apparently the author has this huge boner for classical mythology and it's just, like, the most pretentious shit ever."

She raises her eyebrows like he's a crazy person. Did he really just say _huge boner_ to a hot stranger? He did. "Do you always insult people's reading material on planes?" she asks.

"Just curious."

She shrugs and plays with the dust jacket. "It's not bad. Interesting. There's a lot of mythology stuff, but, I dunno. I wouldn't say it's more pretentious than most dude novels. A lot less, actually."

"Dude novels?"

"You know, the whole-- _I'm a privileged white dude who feels vaguely dissatisfied with existence, I'm going to write a thinly-veiled wish fulfillment novel where I hook up a lot and smoke and talk about the artistic process and the meaning of life_ genre."

He has to smile, because, yes, he does know that genre, and that genre fucking sucks. "So this is privileged white dude writing about mythology instead? That's an improvement?" He really, really wants her to say it is. He's already weirdly invested in her opinion.

"He's not a privileged white dude," she says, surprising him. And then, even creepier, "He's, um, half-Filipino? I think it was Filipino. And they grew up pretty poor. Plus, he's actually interested in telling a good story instead of just navel-gazing."

If she was a stalker, she'd probably know what he looked like. "Do you always start books by reading the about the author section?" Not that most of that was _in_ his about-the-author section. He tries not to talk too much about his childhood. "So you know how much to judge based on upbringing?"

"I bought it because I'm on my way to his sister's wedding," she says, and Bellamy feels his stomach drop into his shoes. This is Clarke. This is _Octavia's college roommate_. The one she's been trying to set him up with. And he has already seriously fucked up. "I've never met him, but I'm a bridesmaid and he's a groomsman and apparently we're going to be paired together for wedding stuff, so I figured I should read the book so we have something to talk about. Other than what I know about him from his sister."

"Oh," he says. He's not really sure what to say. Now is probably the time to say, _Well, that's me_ or something similar, because they're _in the wedding party together_. There is no way he'll be able to keep this under wraps. But she seems to think he's done and goes back to reading, so he pulls out his iPad and tries to distract himself. But he's hyper-aware of everything she does, every turn of the page, every time she tucks her hair back, every time she smiles or frowns or does anything. She's gorgeous and she's so focused, all her attention on _his book_ , which feels like all her attention is on him, and she never really told him what she thought of it.

So when she laughs, he seizes on the chance and asks, "Good laugh, or _god, this book is so pretentious_ laugh?" He's just going to go all-in on this. The only way out is through.

"You seem weirdly invested in how pretentious this book is," she says mildly. "Which it's not."

"No?"

He can see her really thinking it over, worrying her lip. She even closes the book, leaving her finger in to keep her place.. "I guess if we're going on the assumption that any references to classics are pretentious, then yeah," she says, slowly. "But then we're saying that the Percy Jackson series is pretentious, which seems kind of stupid. And this is--I dunno how much information the reviews actually gave you, but the author does a lot of really cool world-building with it. There's an _American Gods_ thing going with deities having power based on how many worshipers they have, and it's this post-apocalyptic world where some of the old gods were adopted by cult leaders as part of their rise to power, so they regain their strength and start interfering with mortals again, and it's less--" she makes a frustrated noise, like she doesn't have the right words, but she's saying pretty much all the right things, as far as he's concerned. She's fucking _spot on_. "It doesn't feel like rehashing the Trojan War just to be a cool literary allusion, it's like the gods are making the same mistakes again with their new followers because they don't know how to change, like that's why history repeats itself." She looks at him like she's expecting an answer, but he mostly just wants to kiss her for being so fucking on point. Apparently she gets tired of waiting, because she goes on, "When I say it like that it sounds like it's got a _Mad Max: Fury Road_ vibe, like the Valhalla cult stuff, but I think that's probably just a coincidence. There aren't a lot of other similarities outside of cults, and what's a post-apocalypse without some cool cults?"

It takes Bellamy a minute to even react, because Octavia's roommate--Octavia's roommate that Octavia clearly wants him to date--is smart and gorgeous and interested in his book, and she referenced Percy Jackson, _American Gods_ , and _Mad Max_ without missing a beat, and Octavia is going to be smug for the rest of his life. Assuming he can recover from the whole shit-talking his own book thing. "Holy shit," he breathes, slumping back in his seat with a laugh. "You just--god."

"What?" she snaps, like she's embarrassed for being the most awesome person of all time. "I'm not just going to blindly tell you it's a shitty, pretentious book because you want me to. It's interesting. I like it. The prose is a little uneven and I think the love story was a bad idea, but it's good. So if you--"

"I'm Octavia's brother," he tells her. Rip the band-aid off, apologize, convince her to marry him. New, improved plan. "That's, uh--that's my book. We're going to the same wedding." He offers his hand. "Bellamy."

She looks at her hand for a second in blank confusion, and then opens up the book and flips to the back, where there's a picture of him, of course. She still doesn't take his offered hand, though, just gives him a wary look.

"And you just tell random people on planes that your book is pretentious?" she asks.

It's a fair question. "Honestly, I never know what to say," he admits, which is at least true. "I usually just stay quiet, but--" She looks at him like she will strangle him with his own entrails if he tries to feed her anymore BS, and he gives up. "But you're cute." She probably knows she's cute. He can't be the first person to tell her that. "It's not like I knew you were Clarke. You are Clarke, right? O's college roommate?"

"Yeah."

Of-fucking-course. "Sorry for, uh--I could have handled that better."

"It's okay," she says, and it even sounds like she means it. "You know, Octavia never mentioned you were in New York. Or on my flight. Is omitting important information a Blake thing?"

He laughs, surprised. He wonders what it means that Octavia's only trying to set _him_ up. "I don't know about the New York part, but I lied to her about my flight because I wanted to surprise her, so that's my fault."

"So omitting important information is a Bellamy thing."

"I was going to tell you right away, I had a plan. But then you started talking about dude novels and my childhood and it got weird."

"All of which could have been avoided if you just started with _hey, you're reading my book_ ," she says, but she's smiling, like the whole thing has started being funny for her too.

"Again, I had a plan," he says, smiling back helplessly. "You would say, _Oh, no, it's a masterpiece_ and I'd say, _Thank you, I worked very hard on it_ , and you'd be charmed."

"Uh huh," she says, dubious. "What if I said it was a pretentious pile of shit?"

"Then I'd say _Cool, I won't read it_ and stop talking to you."

"So, you just use your book as a pickup line if the girl likes your book?"

"It's a pretty shitty pickup line if she doesn't."

She laughs, and somehow it turns into the two of them leaning close over his book, Clarke pointing to sentences and saying, "This, this is fucking _awesome_ , why couldn't you have put more focus on this? Did your editor think the queer love story wasn't good enough? Because if so, you should fire your editor, Acton and Patrius are awesome," and "This is completely unnecessary, you realize that, right? You probably should have cut this entire paragraph. And this one. You got way too into the description. You're like a dog that saw a squirrel."

And all he can really say is, "Yeah, no, you're right, I get it," because if he says anything else, he's going to embarrass himself so thoroughly he won't be able to go to his sister's wedding.

But he makes up his mind pretty much then and there: he's going to marry Clarke Griffin. And he's going to buy Octavia a car or a pony or a boat. Maybe a car and a pony and a boat.

Clarke pokes him in the side. "Are you listening to me?"

He smiles and leans back in. "Yeah, I'm listening. Keep going. This is perfect."


	3. I Was So Much Older Then (I'm Younger Than That Now) - Clarke POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3887470)!

Clarke didn't exactly set out to reinvent herself, not consciously. It was more of a gradual process, a change in the way she dressed here, a piercing there, the first time she changed her hair color, getting a tattoo. They were things she'd always been interested in, always liked, always thought were cool, but she couldn't pull off. And as she got older, she started thinking she could rock a short skirt and she's never seen a girl with a nose ring she didn't think was hot, and now here she is, twenty-one, and Bellamy fucking Blake is looking at her like she's a stranger. Which, well, maybe she is.

"Holy shit, Clarke?" he asks. He's still unfairly hot, all messy black curls and freckles and fucking _arms_. Judging from Facebook, most of the hot guys from high school have gotten kind of weird and jowl-y, but Bellamy is just as attractive as he was when he was the hot senior who'd give her and Octavia rides to the mall on weekends.

"What are you doing here? Visiting? Or--?" She hopes she doesn't sound too eager. She's an adult now. She's responsible and independent and cool. People are scared of her. She's clearly not still into her middle-school crush.

"I just started grad school," he says, and never mind.

She's twelve, and he's dreamy.

But then, the weirdest thing happens: she gets to know him. He's not the guy she assumed he was in high school which, in retrospect, was pretty much John Travolta from Grease. Instead he's nerdy and kind of awkward, loves Latin and Greek enthusiastically and unironically, plays fucking _Magic: The Gathering_ with Monty and Jasper on weekends. 

"Were you always like this?" she asks him. They're in the library, and he's just finished a long rant on which high-school Latin textbooks he likes best, based on story quality, vocabulary, and illustrations. It shouldn't be possible for someone to be simultaneously so cute and so hot.

"Like what?" he asks.

"Like--fucking _nerd_."

He laughs, blushing a little. "No, you're right, I didn't talk about this stuff in high school. I had the highest grades in my Latin class, but I never told anyone."

"So what changed?"

He reaches over and flicks her hair with his pencil. "I could ask you the same thing."

"Nothing changed," she says. "I just got more confident." She smiles. "Decided I could pull it off."

"Well, me too," he says. "Only I'm pulling off being a dork instead of--" he coughs, flushing, and Clarke thinks she should really say something about this soon, this whole them thing. She's pretty sure he's interested, but for all she's more confident now, she's a little worried it's just the bells and whistles, the hair and the nose ring and the look she's got going, which isn't any more _her_ than the braces and the ugly sweaters she wore when she was a kid. Under it all, she's still Clarke, and she really wants him to like Clarke. "Anyway," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I still, you know. Go out and party and flirt with girls and all that stuff, but I realized I could have my cake and eat it too."

"So you love Greek and still get laid?" she teases.

"Pretty much."

"I guess dreams really do come true."

"So far, yeah."

*

Scaring girls off is an accident. Really. The first one she doesn't even mean to; he's at the bar at Ground Pound, chatting with this completely gorgeous lady in a Harvard t-shirt, and when he goes to the bathroom, the woman calls Clarke over. "You guys are friends?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"Is he--good?" she asks. "I usually don't go out without friends, to get a second opinion."

"Oh, yeah, he's great," says Clarke, unable to keep a smile off his face. "He's definitely one of the good ones." She rubs the back of her neck. "Not that I've, uh, gone home with him, but we grew up together, and he's a really solid guy. Super over-protective. He's got a little sister, so he's kind of--yeah. Over-protective. Probably a good choice for a one-night stand."

The girl is kind of staring, and finally says, "Oh, wow. So, how long have you been into him?"

Clarke reviews what she said, and, yeah, in retrospect, that was definitely an _I'm into him_ answer. "Uh, I guess it depends. I had a crush on him when we were kids, but, you know, we didn't see each other for seven years, and now he's back and looks like _that_ , so you know."

She laughs. "Yeah, I can see how that would happen. I'm gonna let you guys be, okay? He's hot, but I wouldn't want to get in your way." She winks. "You should definitely go for it."

When Bellamy gets back, the girl is gone, and Clarke has gotten her blush under control. He frowns. "Where'd she go?"

Clarke shrugs. "I dunno. She just took off."

"Huh," he says, apparently not particularly concerned. "So, can I borrow your phone to facebook-stalk Octavia's new boyfriend?"

She snorts and hands it over. "You know you could just sign up for Facebook, right? It's free."

"That's letting Mark Zuckerberg win, Clarke."

"Does he know you guys are rivals?"

"I'm sure he's aware," he says, making a face at her phone, and it's really stupidly easy to scare girls off, because all she has to say is, _listen, I know this is pathetic, but I'm kind of in love with him, and I haven't figured out how to tell him yet_ , and she gets hugs and high-fives and she gives the girls free drinks. It's a great system for everyone, except for the part where she still somehow hasn't figured out how to tell Bellamy she likes him.

It feels like it should be easy. They're friends, he's clearly attracted to her, he likes her. But part of her still wants him to make the first move, which is pathetic and old-fashioned and stupid. She's a modern woman. She could ask him out.

But all things considered, she's a lot happier that he just asks her.

She's never actually dyed her hair green before; she's thought about it, wanted to, even, but she thought it would clash with her eyes, or make it look like her head was going rotten, or any number of things. But as soon as she gets home, she gets the dye out, because she kissed Bellamy Blake _twice_ tonight, and she's going to kiss him a lot more tomorrow, and everything in the universe seems possible. And if it looks bad, it'll wash out, so really, what's she afraid of?

The first thing Bellamy does when he sees her the next day is play with her hair, which makes her feel great about her choice. "Already? What happened to the red?"

"Felt like a change."

"Should I read into this?" he asks, grinning. "Should I be smug?"

"Yes, dying my hair green is secret code for _I'm excited about my new boyfriend_."

"She's acting like that's sarcasm, but it totally, completely is," says Raven, and Clarke doesn't bother denying it a second time. 

Bellamy doesn't ask again, but he clearly knows he was right, because he can't stop touching it, fingers carding through it absently all the time. It makes her feel warm and loved, and she keeps it for way longer than any other color, even redyes it a couple times, which is unheard of for her. After almost five months, she dyes it pink, and she can tell he's disappointed.

"It washed out," she tells him. He's making her dinner, like a good boyfriend.

"I know," he says, not pretending he doesn't know what she's talking about.

"I saw this coming," she says. "And I came prepared." She tugs her shirt off.

"I'm cooking," he says. "Now is not the time for--" she holds up her arm so she can see the tattoo, an omega, and he drops the spoon he was using to stir the pasta. "Seriously, I cannot fuck you right now," he says. "Can I touch it?"

She laughs. "Yeah, you can. To both," she adds, smirking.

He traces his fingers over it with slow reverence, and she can see him swallow. "Why'd you--"

She smiles. "For you," she says. There doesn't seem to be much point denying it. She thought about getting a beta, for Bellamy, but those pretty much just look like B's, and she figured he'd probably be more into a Greek letter than his actual name. Because he's a giant nerd, and she loves him. Besides, omega is the end. The last. And she's ridiculously sure about that part. "Obviously."

He looks at the pasta and heaves a great sigh. "We can have sex _really fast_ ," he says, reluctant, and she pulls him in for a kiss.

"Really fast," she agrees.

They both turned out pretty well, she thinks. All things considered.


	4. And That's Terrible - Clarke POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3655668)!

Clarke didn't think anyone in the entire world was stupid enough to try to be a superhero without wearing a mask, but, really, she's not even sure not wearing a mask is the stupidest choice Bellamy Blake has made in this whole superhero thing. Being a superhero in the first place is pretty questionable, and then there's the way he keeps baiting her about her articles, about _himself_ , and repeatedly running into a burning building, and, yeah, not _wearing a fucking mask_. Because now she knows who he is, for absolutely certain, and she's going to have to start looking out for him. To make sure he doesn't get himself killed. See also: repeatedly running into a burning building.

"Did you steal this from the EMTs?" he asks, when she finds him and shoves a bottle of water at him. His hair is a mess of damp curls, which she likes a lot better than Odysseus's straight, slicked back style.

"I borrowed it," she says, crossing her arms.

He gives her an amused look. "You can't borrow water, Princess. I'm not giving it back."

She sits down next to him. Part of her wants to tell him she knows who he is, but she's not going to. There's still too much she doesn't understand. Telling him now would be like checking the back of the book for the answer instead of figuring it out herself. "That was pretty high-profile," she tells him, as close to censure as she can get without saying _I recognized you, dumbass_. "A lot more of an audience than usual. You don't want me photographing your face, but you'll evacuate a burning building in front of hundreds of people?"

"Good point," he says, standing and offering her his hand. "You want to get out of here?"

"You're good to fly?" she asks, looking him over critically.

"I heal fast, remember?"

It's still weird, getting rides from Bellamy. She knew he was a generally attractive guy, much as she's tried not to think about it, but it's different to have him carrying her, to be all pressed up against him, his firm arms wrapped around her. She's had some embarrassing dreams about it, which she also tries not to think about. It's definitely not working.

Plus, he can _fly_. That's also really fucking weird.

He lands them on some random roof and drinks half the bottle of water she stole. She can see his freckles now too, and his neck working. She hasn't hated Bellamy for a while, but she's still not ready to like him as much as she thinks he might. "Something on my face?" he asks, catching her staring.

She looks down to hide her fond smile. She doubts he'd like it if she said _your freckles_. "No. Why don't you wear a mask?"

"It was itchy," he says, like this is a good reason for being a fucking idiot. "And it didn't stay on right. I would have needed a cowl, and my tailor's not that good."

"So you're just trusting that no one's going to take a picture of you? That's a pretty big leap."

He looks up at the sky, and she takes advantage of his distraction to check out his profile again. "My tailor says there are a lot of people in the world," he says, thoughtful. At some point she should tell him that _my tailor_ does not sound as cool or as mysterious as he thinks it does. "No one's really going to think the superhero they're hearing about is their friend or their neighbor or their coworker."

If she hadn't figured it out, the coworker reference would have done it. Fucking _idiot_. "But he's got to be someone's."

Bellamy gives her a grin. "Yeah, that's what I said."

*

She was already getting to be friends with him, reluctantly, almost against her will, because he's funny and smart and doesn't take any shit, and he hated her at first for all the reasons she thought she should be hated, and every time she makes him smile, it feels like a victory. And now they're sharing a secret, even if he doesn't know it, so it's impossible to do anything but like him. So when he starts coming in early to watch the Tour, it's easy to set her alarm early, brew two cups of coffee, and drag herself into the office at five in the morning. He's asleep in his chair, his glasses askew on his face, his hair a disaster, and Clarke feels this completely awful wave of _fondness_. 

She bumps the coffee against his head. "You're a mess, Bellamy Blake."

He rubs his eyes, knocking his glasses even farther out of place. "Morning, sunshine." His voice is rough from sleep, and he looks at the coffee like he thinks it might bite him. "Is that for me?"

"Like I said, you're a mess," she says, cheerful. "Drink the coffee. You need to write real articles too, remember? We have deadlines."

"You brought me coffee," he says, with some wonder. Once he's drunk enough of it to be human, he adds, "Thanks."

"I was coming in anyway," she lies. "You're no good to anyone unconscious."

"Sure I am. You can draw stuff on my face."

She laughs and rolls her chair over to him. "Next time I come in early, for sure. I used to watch this with my dad," she adds, and he doesn't say anything, just makes more room for her in front of his computer.

"When did you stop hating me?" he asks, soft, after a minute of silence.

"It's been a while," she admits, just as soft.

"Cool," he says, smiling. "Me too."

*

She finally solves the Bellamy Blake puzzle when he follows her out to look for his own alter ego and spends the entire time talking shit about himself, and then she almost laughs in his face, because, god, he _likes her_ , and he doesn't really think she likes Odysseus better than him, does he? 

But he doesn't kiss her until she tells him she prefers him in a ratty t-shirt and pajama pants, so he really must have actually thought that.

"You're an idiot," she tells him. It's Saturday morning, and she'd feel weird for having a sleep over before they've even officially started dating, but it's not like they had sex.

Which might actually be sadder, in retrospect. But it's still nice, spending her morning with him, all easy, casual affection, like she's been in his apartment for breakfast a thousand times.

"Hm?" he asks. He's still wearing the pajama pants, but no shirt, which she likes even better than the previous version.

"Jealous of yourself," she reminds him.

He laughs, ducking his head over the stove. He's cooking, and it smells really good. He's actually going to be a good boyfriend. "You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"

"Not in a million years." She wraps his arms around him. "And I'm making you a mask, seriously. You're not allowed to not wear a mask."

"You just don't want anyone else seeing my pretty face and trying to steal me."

She snorts. "That must be it."

But the next time she sees Odysseus, he's wearing the mask.

"My girlfriend made it for me," he tells her proudly.

"I can tell, it looks really shitty. I hope she has other skills." She pauses. "And I'm not putting that in the paper. I don't want to get a bunch of angry emails asking if I know who you're dating and how she can be murdered."

He scoops her up. "I promise I won't let anyone murder you," he says. "Pinkie swear."

She tugs his mask down; it keeps going crooked, just like he said it would. "My hero."


	5. How You Get the Girl - Bellamy POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3956446)!

It is a really, really fucking _stupid_ idea, which makes it all the more confusing when it actually _works_. Bellamy has been trying to figure out how to tell Clarke how he feels about her for years, and instead of doing something normal, like asking her on a date, he ends up offering to get her off in the library, which by all rights should have ended up with her punching him.

But instead she agrees, and he gets to finger her in public, and he figures that's the end of it, and it might make it weirder if he ever tries to make a real move on her. But at least it happened once. He has gotten Clarke Griffin off. That's a life achievement right there.

And then she shows up at his door at one a.m, flushed, in her pajamas. Which isn't that weird in and of itself, she visits him a lot, but it's Wednesday, and she has an early class on Thursday, so he usually doesn't see her after midnight. "Hey, everything okay?"

She comes in and pushes the door shut. "My vibrator broke."

He frowns. "Did you want to have a funeral for it in the middle of the night? Because I feel like that could wait for morning." 

"I was hoping you could take a study break and help me out."

He chokes a little, but manages to turn it into a laugh. "Is this a booty call? Are you coming to me for a booty call?" He's had this dream before.

"It's faster than setting up a tinder account." She worries her lip, like she's losing her nerve, which is the last thing he wants. He absolutely wants to encourage her to come to him for sex _all the time_. "Unless you've got too much work to do."

He looks at his computer; he's just been writing _balls balls balls_ for the last five minutes or so, because he hates this class. "No, that actually sounds great. My brain's about to leak out my ears. What do you want?"

"Dealer's choice," she says, sitting down on his bed. Yeah, he's definitely had this dream before.

"Awesome," he says, and tugs off her shorts. She really must have been close when her vibrator broke, because she's fucking _wet_ , and so responsive, it's perfect. She tangles her hand in his hair and throws one of her legs over his shoulders, pushing into his mouth with all these perfect little moans, and it's so great that he doesn't stop after she comes. She seems stressed. She needs multiple orgasms, and he's going to make sure she gets them. 

"What about you?" she asks, once he finally pulls himself away. She's already mostly asleep; he'd like to see her try to manage a hand job. She'd fall asleep on his dick. He considers it a sign of a job well done. "Don't you want me to do something?"

"Nah. You can owe me one."

"I owe you two. Well, three, maybe. Fuck. You're awesome, Bell."

He files that away with the best things he's ever heard. "I am, yeah. Are you just going to pass out in my bed?"

She stretches. "Do you mind?"

"I'm going to spoon you if you do," he warns her. "But if that's cool, go ahead."

"Cool," she says, and falls asleep almost immediately. He spends about half an hour trying to beat the paper into submission, but, well--Clarke's asleep in his bed, mostly naked, and he has her permission to join her. So he just erases all of the _balls_ he's put in, saves the paper, and slides in behind her. She makes a soft, contented noise and relaxes against his chest, and it's just as awesome as he thought it would be.

She fucks him the next morning, which is pretty great too, and he really thinks he's got this whole thing figured out. Casual sex with Clarke Griffin. He can do this. It's almost exactly what he wants, because there's none of the awkward friends-to-relationship stuff he was worried about, they're exactly the same, just with sex.

And then he tells her he wants to kiss her, and he's sure he screwed it up. She probably hadn't even noticed that they weren't kissing. She probably didn't care. And he wasn't exactly doing it on purpose, but he knows that if he starts kissing her, he's not going to be able to just _stop_.

"Anyway," he says, into the awkward silence that follows _I would have kissed you at midnight_. "Night."

"I would have too," she says, before he can hang up, and it sounds genuine, almost desperate.

He bites his lip, feeling stupidly happy. "Night, Clarke."

They don't talk again before he goes back to school, but it's only a couple days, and he somehow manages to not stress himself to death about it. She texts him her ETA, so he leaves his door open and hangs out reading when she's supposed to get back. He's cool. He's casual. He's not hoping she's going to come and confess her love.

But when she comes in, he loses any cool he ever had, and gives her the goofiest grin of all time. "Hey."

And then she kisses him, and he can't even kiss her back right, because what if she didn't mean the same thing he did? What if she just likes kissing? What if he's a huge idiot?

He's definitely a huge idiot.

"I didn't hook up with this girl at New Year's," she tells him when she pulls back.

"Sorry?" 

"I like your bed better than mine," she tells him in a rush. "You're my best friend, I missed you like hell the whole time we were on break, I kept thinking, _can I text him again, am I texting him too much, can I call if I don't want to have sex, how do I make this happen_ , because I'm actually bad at liking people this much."

He was wrong; this grin is the goofiest grin of all time. "Better or worse than you are at phone sex?"

She's smiling too. "I don't know. What do you think?"

"You got better at phone sex."

"Oh good, I was worried." She leans in, resting her forehead against his neck, just breathing, and he bites back an even more embarrassing confession than hers. "I would really love to--date, I guess? But without dating, dates are a pain. I just want to be serious about you and still have sex in weird places. I kind of like sex in weird places."

That might be the understatement of the century. Clarke totally has a public sex kink, and it's the best. "I noticed. I can be serious about you," he tells her, which, never mind. That is without a doubt the understatement of the century.

He kisses her, hoping she doesn't notice. He gives himself a week, max, before he says something else idiotic, like _I love you_ , but maybe until then, he can pretend he's cool and in control and not embarrassingly into her.

It's nice to dream.

"Stop thinking," Clarke grumbles, against his mouth. "We're making out. It's awesome."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, and does as he's told.


	6. By All Accounts, It Doesn't Make Sense - Raven and Bellamy POVs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doing these as a twofer, since they're the same story. Original fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3832141)!

**Raven**

"So I left a dish in the sink for _one night_ ," Clarke is saying. Raven is only half listening, because Clarke's constant complaints about her roommate have stopped being funny because she so clearly wants to fuck him and started being boring because she refuses to admit it. "Aren't you supposed to let dishes soak?"

Raven lived with Clarke for three years, so she's with Bellamy on this one. "Was there water in it?"

There's a long pause, and then Clarke says, "So, how are you?" It's the most obvious subject change of all time, and Raven snickers.

"Oh, you know, the usual. Drinking, texting with this dude who isn't good enough for me."

"Wait, you didn't tell me about the dude."

"Well, he's not good enough for me," says Raven. She takes a drink of her gin and tonic; she doesn't really want to talk about Wick, but at the same time, she really wants to talk about Wick. This is how people like Clarke happen. Clarke doesn't want to like Bellamy, so she just complains about him instead, so she can talk about him constantly without saying anything nice. Raven should probably set a good example. "He's an engineer, we work together. You know I have a strict no-coworkers policy, but, I dunno. He's fun. And funny. Excellent texter. And he's not pressuring me, which--"

"You should give him a shot," Clarke says, all earnest concern. "The Finn thing sucked for you, even more than it did for me, but it's been a long time. No coworkers is the kind of rule you should ditch as soon as it stops being a rule you want to follow." There's a pause. "Well, text me pictures first. Is he hot?"

"I'll text you pictures of Wick if you text me pictures of Bellamy," she says. Bellamy isn't on Facebook and Clarke never posts pictures or gives her descriptions, so she's just been sort of guessing about what he looks like. Based on Clarke's levels of sexual frustration, she's betting on infuriatingly hot.

Clarke makes an annoyed noise. "I have to go to work," she says. She's working some sort of horrific overnight shift at the ER, because her life is terrible. But then she adds, "Give me a sec," and yells "Bellamy!"

Raven hears the distant _what_ ; she already knows his voice from overhearing occasional arguments. If his face is as hot as his voice is, Clarke should have hit that yesterday. Really, she should have hit that weeks ago, regardless, but--

There's some muffled conversation, a pause, and then Clarke says, "There. Your turn. And, shit, I really have to go. Talk to you later."

Raven checks her phones and finds two texts from Wick-- _did u know bill nye is on netflix now if u arent watching i'm disappointed in u and we can't be friends_ , followed by, _before u call me out on switching from you to u there is a tumblr post you should read about how you/u is the english equivalent of vous/tu_ \--and a picture from Clarke, a guy with olive skin and messy black hair, raising his eyebrows at the camera. He's at the sink doing dishes and has excellent forearms.

She texts Wick, _do you have a tumblr wick be honest_ , texts Clarke a selfie Wick sent her when he went to the aquarium last week, and then pours herself another drink. It is an actual _crime_ Clarke isn't hitting that. If she was there, she'd do something about it.

Then again, she doesn't have to be there to do something. She's actually magic.

Raven never gets blackout drunk, in the sense that she doesn't completely forget what she does. She just sort of loses track of the memories for a while, and when they come back, they're kind of hazy and confused. She knows, for example, that she is now following Wick's personal tumblr (omgwhatawick) and another one he runs called "fyeahladiesinstem," and that she printed off the picture of Clarke's hot roommate, put it in the middle of a casting array, and performed some kind of spell with it. Judging from the array, it was some a transformation, and Clarke was involved, probably the actual target, but the array got kind of smudged and the specifics of the incantation are lost now.

She's hoping the circle got smudged _before_ she did the spell, and she did not turn Clarke's roommate into an unknown creature or object. But Clarke's not home anyway, and Raven has to go to work, so she figures it's probably fine and heads in.

She thinks about calling Clarke after she's done, but Wick says, "So, hey, seriously, Bill Nye? My place? I'll pay for Chinese and everything," and Clarke will definitely approve of her going over to spend time with him, right?

Saturday, Clarke calls and opens with, "So, are you a witch?"

Raven is looking through her fridge for something for dinner; she pauses, decides that, yeah, she turned Bellamy into something, and then goes back to foraging. "What?" she asks, mock-affronted. "You're asking me if I'm a witch, Griffin? After all these years? After all we've been through?"

"That's not a no," Clarke points out. "It's also not _witches aren't real_ , which is what I would expect if you weren't a witch who turned my roommate into a llama."

They better have taken pictures. And dressed him up in funny hats. Okay, probably they didn't. There were probably some serious existential questions and some fucking freaking out. But maybe they've recovered enough to dress him up in funny hats, if he hasn't turned back yet. God, a _llama_. She's the fucking best. "He turned into a llama?" she asks, once she gets enough control of her laughter to speak.

"Yeah, thanks for that," says Bellamy. Apparently she's on speaker. Llamas probably can't manipulate cell phones.

"Hey, loverboy," she says, still laughing. "You better?"

"Yeah."

"So you should probably be thanking me." She remembers enough about her spell that Clarke definitely had to deal with her feelings. They better thank her at their wedding. They better realize they owe her for life. Even if it was probably pretty traumatic. She hopes Bellamy isn't scarred for life or something. "Seriously, it was an accident," she says, more somber. "I try not to be that obvious about it, or everyone would know about witches, but I messed up the Latin a little. Don't drink and divine, kids."

"Please never turn anyone I love into an animal ever again," Clarke says wearily. "Or an inanimate object. Anything, actually. Let's not turn anyone into anything."

"I was gonna call you," says Raven. "You know, to help. Soon." She doesn't mention she was hanging out with Wick, because she doesn't want Bellamy on speakerphone to discuss her love life. Plus, Clarke definitely has better things to do right now than talk to her about Wick. She's not on shift until Monday, she should be getting super laid.

"I'm going to drive down there and murder you," Clarke says, cheerful.

Raven makes a cooing noise and starts putting her sandwich together. "Cool, I miss you. Definitely come visit."

A week later, Clarke texts, _Did I remember to say thank you?_

_Nope_.

The phone rings a few minutes later, and Raven excuses herself from Wick to get it. "I knew you appreciated it. You were also just having an existential and feelings crisis. I get it. You had a lot going on. I accept Amazon and iTunes gift cards. So, you know--"

Clarke is laughing. "Seriously, you're a witch, can't you teleport or something? We should talk. About the witch thing. And I just want to see you."

"I could get down there faster than the average human," Raven grants. "But I'm actually kind of on a date right now, so--"

Clarke squeals, delighted, and Raven laughs. "Yeah, yeah. But I want to meet your llama boyfriend, so I'll be down soon, pinkie swear."

She sends Clarke a selfie of her and Wick on the couch, and then settles in. 

"So, we're on informal, letter _u_ terms now, right?" asks Wick, putting his arm around her.

Informal, letter _u_ terms involve people knowing Raven is a witch. That's the true sign of her inner circle, and with Clarke and Bellamy, it's up to three. And Finn got himself kicked out, and Bellamy's included by default, so--Clarke, really.

"Getting there."

He snorts. "Making me work for it, huh, Reyes?"

She grins and settles in against his chest. "Always."

 

**Bellamy**

In retrospect, Bellamy is surprised that being turned into a llama doesn't immediately wake him up, because that kind of incredible physiological change should really have been painful and noticeable. But instead, he wakes up when his alarm goes off, just like normal, and he discovers he doesn't have arms, in the traditional sense, when he tries to reach over to turn it off and his body doesn't work that way anymore.

That's when he breaks the bed, lets out a string of muffled profanity from the broken pile of boards and mattress, and finally manages to turn off his alarm with his face.

Then he looks down at himself, taking in--okay, yeah. He's a llama, He's dark brown and fluffy and this has got to be a dream.

Miller pounds on his door. "You okay?" he asks. "Did you fall over? I heard noises."

"Yeah, I, uh--" he coughs and makes his voice scratchy. Sort of. How does his voice still work? Why is he questioning the logistics of his fucking _llama anatomy_? He has other shit do deal with. "I'm sick, I just--god, I feel awful. I don't even think I can call work. Can you do it for me?"

There's a pause. "Sure. Are you--can I get you something?"

If he tells Miller about this, Miller won't go into work, and he'll probably faint and hit his head on something, and Bellamy won't be able to help. Because he's a fucking llama. Besides, Miller doesn't get paid time off, so if he misses work, he's down a fucking day of pay, and Bellamy's not going to do that to him. He can't afford it. "I think it's the flu, I'm just gonna go back to bed. Just--tell Clarke to check on me when she gets back." Clarke is the best person he has ever met in a crisis. She'll know what to do. She probably won't faint and bleed to death while he bleats helplessly.

"Fine," says Miller. "Get some sleep, man."

"Yeah," he says. "Thanks."

He hears Miller take off, and that's his cue to start _freaking the fuck out_ , because this is somehow actually happening. Clarke won't be home until like one, so he has _hours_ of being trapped in his room to look forward to.

He tries going back to sleep, but his adrenaline is at crazy levels, so it's no good. He tries opening his door with his mouth, but his mouth isn't really big enough to manipulate it. He contemplates throwing himself out the window, on the grounds that if this is a dream, it might wake him up. But he's pretty sure it's somehow _not_ , and the only thing he can think of that's worse than being a talking llama is being a talking llama with four broken legs. He'd either die before anyone found him, or someone would find him and dissect him or something.

Finally, he manages to open the Audible app on his iPad with his face, and gets an audiobook going. It's better than standing around, contemplating what his life is going to be like now, or trying to figure out what happened. Because, seriously, he has _no fucking clue_. This kind of thing doesn't _happen_. This is fucking impossible.

He hears Clarke talking to Miller on the phone outside a few hours later and gets his book turned off before she comes up. He's going to be as dignified as possible when she gets here. Which is not very dignified, but, well. He's a llama. He's working with what he's got.

"Bellamy! Are you dead?" she asks, pounding on the door.

"I wish," he mutters.

"What is it, flu?" She rattles the door, and it starts to open. "You better be wearing clothes," she says darkly.

"I'm not."

"Too late." She's wearing her scrubs, her hair coming out of her bun in wispy tendrils, and she looks fucking exhausted. He feels bad for springing this on her after an overnight shift in the ER, when he knows all she wants to do is pass out, but--he needs help, and she's the best help he knows.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure you don't want to check me out right now," he says, because, really, what else is there to say in this situation? _Surprise, I'm a llama? I have llama flu?_ There is absolutely nothing good to say right now. He's doing the best he can.

She falls back against his door, boneless. "Bellamy, are you--" She glares at him. "What the fuck? Did you steal a llama to punk me? Please tell me you didn't _buy_ a llama just to punk me, because if you don't make rent because you spent all your money on a _fucking llama_ , I will actually murder you."

"Why would I buy a llama?" he snaps. "That's not even a good prank! I woke up this morning and it was just--fuck. I was like this."

"One morning, when Bellamy Blake woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into--" she says, mostly under her breath, and he has to smile. Or maybe not. He doesn't know what his face is doing right now.

"Look, princess, as hot as I find it when you reference classic literature, can you help me out here?" he asks. He's so fucking glad she's home.

She gives him a calculating look, cocking her head at him before she walks over, slow and careful, like she thinks he might bite her. When she gets to him, she reaches out and touches his head, hesitant. It feels nice, and he pushes into it.

"What is this proving, exactly?" he asks.

She starts scratching his head, right by his ears. It's the first thing that's made him feel relaxed since he woke up. "I don't know," she admits.

"Seriously, why would I ever try to convince you I turned into a llama it wasn't true?" he asks, weary. "Why would I take a sick day to do that?"

"What the hell happened to your bed?" she asks. Apparently she's finally noticed it's a total wreck.

"I woke up _a llama_. I broke it trying to get up."

She falls onto the bed in shock. That's what does it, he guesses. She thinks he'd buy a llama for a prank, but not break his bed. "Holy shit, are you actually a fucking _llama_?"

"Yes," he says, relieved, and bumps her with his head for good measure. "And I need help. I'm hungry, and thirsty, and we need to fix it."

And, in her defense, even though she's exhausted and nearly falling over, she gets him outside and comes up with a plan and makes sure he's taken care of before she goes to pass out. And she keeps doing her best to figure it out, even though the entire thing is fucking _impossible_ , and nothing she comes up with is either useful or helpful. He loves her for trying. And a lot of other reasons.

Which is why he should probably just let her kiss him, because, well, really, it's not a worse idea than throwing a bucket of water on him. But the truth is, he'd actually be really disappointed if it didn't work. Which is _stupid_. It's not like there's any reason to think it should work, but if it doesn't, he'll read into it. 

He watched too many Disney movies with Octavia as a kid. And he's still somehow not prepared for this situation.

"You know," she observes, once she's sent Miller and Octavia off, "if you don't stop being a llama, you're not going to get to kiss me anyway, so it seems kind of stupid to veto it because you don't have game."

"I might have game," he says, sullen. As excuses go, it was not his best one, but there was absolutely no way he was telling her the truth.

"You're a llama. There's not enough game in the world."

It sounds like there might be some small chance she'll kiss him if he ever turns back, which is doing funny things to his stomach. Or that might be the grass. Or some standard part of his new anatomy. How many stomachs do llamas have? Is it four, like cows?

This is not really what's important right now. "And when I'm not a llama?" he asks.

She's quiet for a long minute, and it's definitely her making him feel this way, not the grass. "I dunno," she says, soft. "I guess we'll find out when you're not a llama."

It doesn't feel like much when he turns back, which he guesses is why it didn't wake him up. There's a weird sort of flipping in his stomach(s?), and a moment of blackness, and then he's naked, and has all his normal parts, and Clarke's hand is tangled in his hair. He overbalances, falls over, and then tries to cover himself with nothing, because this was not really how he pictured Clarke seeing him naked for the first time. She's staring, but mostly at him being human, not at him being naked, which--okay, yeah. That's pretty fucking notable.

"What the fuck, princess?" he asks, because _he_ sure as hell didn't do anything.

"What?" she snaps. She's kind of flushed.

"What did you do?"

"I don't know!" She crosses her arms and looks at him, like she's defying him to argue with her. She relents after a second. "I guess I might have learned a lesson about feelings," she mutters.

His mouth goes dry--it might be from the grass, but probably just because Clarke sounds like she's saying she's into him, and it's possible the power of her feelings turned him back into a human, which is some fucking fairy-tale, destiny shit."What about them?" he asks, trying not to sound too hopeful.

"Shut up, Bellamy," she grumbles, blushing darker, and he surges over to kiss her. She's stiff for a minute, but then she starts responding pulling him closer, and-- "Oh god, you have got to brush your teeth, llama mouth is gross," she says, making a face, and he buries his face against her neck, laughing.

Clarke Griffin fairy-tale loves him. He'll figure everything else out later.


	7. winter dies the same way every spring - Wick POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3940597)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much 100% Raven/Wick with no Bellamy/Clarke so if that's not something that interests you, skip it.

Kyle's been waiting for the conversation, so he's not really surprised when Raven asks, "Have you guys never liked Finn, or are you not hanging out with him for my benefit?" one Friday evening. He's just glad Blake and Clarke are there, because otherwise he'd have to have this conversation alone. With Blake and Clarke here, he might survive it.

Clarke's the first to speak; Clarke has their backs. "When I asked Bellamy what he thought of Finn, he said he was _so boring it's offensive_. Direct quote."

Kyle bites back a snicker, but he does shoot Blake a grin. Blake smirks back. "Well, he was jealous, that doesn't count," Raven says, thankfully not noticing the exchange.

"It was a combination of things," Blake protests. Raven snorts. "Seriously! Yeah, I was jealous, but--Finn was never good enough for you, okay? He's the human equivalent of paste. He didn't deserve you in the first place."

Kyle privately agrees, but he wouldn't be stupid enough to say it to her face. As expected, she turns on Blake. "That's such bullshit, you know that? Dating isn't a meritocracy. People don't have to pass a test to be worthy of relationships. What did you to do earn your girlfriend?"

He's expecting a long, awkward silence and some backtracking from Blake, but instead Clarke just says, "Well, he's great at oral," casual as anything, and he nearly chokes on his beer. Raven thumps him on the back, which does not help at all, but it's a nice thought.

"Thanks, love you too," Blake tells Clarke. "Biases and merit-based dating aside, we hung out with Finn because we liked you, not the other way around."

Raven elbows him. "What about you?"

"I'm Switzerland," he says. He had time to prepare his answer. "If you want Collins to hang out here, feel free to invite him over any time."

He thinks that's the end of it, that's he's escaped from the _what do you think of my ex-boyfriend/oldest friend_ conversation unscathed, but she follows him into the kitchen after Blake and Clarke take off and says, "Seriously. I want to hear what you think of Finn."

"Do you?" he says, hoping it's enough of a hint for her to back off. If she pushes, he's going to be honest, and it's going to suck out loud. But she doesn't flinch, of course. "What are you getting out of hearing what I think of your ex?"

"Has everyone been hoping he'll dump me for years?"

"No, jesus! We were hoping you'd dump him," he says, without thinking. He rubs his face. "That came out wrong."

"Did it?" She says it just like he asked if she wanted to know if she liked Collins, crosses her arms the same way, and she is actually the most awesome person he knows, even when she's making him miserable.

He thinks about trying to dodge the question, but--she's asking, and he hates lying to her. "Look, I'm not into the idea of merit-based dating or whatever you want to call it, but I know you're amazing, and I never felt like Collins did. Not--" He huffs, because of course Collins knew Raven was cool, but he knew it the way he knew that water was wet. It was innate, and that has value, but he thinks that Collins has known Raven for so long that he doesn't know how to update her in his mind, doesn't get who she is now. She's the high-school girlfriend he's moved past, not the fucking brilliant, badass woman he should feel lucky just to know. "You know how Blake looks at Clarke?" he asks, a little desperate. "I want you to have someone who looks at you like that, and he never did. So, yeah, I wanted you to dump him, okay? And I want you to find someone who fucking _loves you_."

She's looking up at him with actual shock, and they're way too close and he's way too worked up. He never lets himself get like this, never lets himself think about how unfair it is, that Raven acts so confident all the time but still doesn't seem to realize how much she matters to people. Not just him, but Blake and Roma and Nyko and everyone, even Clarke, who's only known her for a few weeks. Plenty of people love her, not just him, and she thinks it's just Collins, that his love is all she's ever going to get. And he tries not to think about it, because it makes him so fucking pissed at the entire universe.

Raven swallows hard, visibly, and Kyle knows that there are about ten seconds remaining until he does something monumentally stupid, like saying he actually thought seriously about punching Collins after they broke up or kissing her or telling her _he_ loves her.

But Indra comes in, and the moment's broken. He gets out.

The next morning, he buys her a muffin.

"What's this for?" Indra asks, wary, like she thinks it's some kind of trap muffin. Indra has some trust issues.

"Believe me," he says. "I owe you one."

*

And then she kisses him, which is--not really great. He can taste the alcohol on her breath and she's upset. She's at least upset about not being more heartbroken, which is an improvement over heartbreak, but he still can't do that, can't hook up with her when she's drunk and messed up. He never hooks up with anyone when they're drunk, because he's not an asshole, but with Raven, it's a whole other level, because, god. He can't think of many ideas that are worst than him hooking up with Raven when she's drunk, but the biggest problem is that even _not_ hooking up with her screws things up. She avoids him for an entire fucking day, and that's not allowed to happen. He is not fucking losing her.

So he wakes up early on Sunday, makes coffee, and is planning to just camp out by the stairs until she comes down, but thankfully she shows up in the kitchen before it goes that far.

She tries to leave before he can talk to her, which sends a sharp flash of hurt through him, and he nearly lets her go, but--this is important. They need to talk.

"Look, I've seen enough romantic comedies to know that this is a potential nightmare situation, so I'm just going to tell you one thing and then you can get back to ignoring me or whatever," he says. He might have written this speech out. He might have rehearsed it. He pauses, waiting for her to actually look at him. She does, finally, defiant, and it makes him relax, weirdly. Angry Raven is better than hurt Raven any day. "If you're thinking I stopped you the other night because I don't want you, don't. Of course I want you. You're fucking awesome." It feels like the world stops for a second, but nothing happens. She knows, and nothing happened. "If you ever want to make out when you're sober and willing to date me, let me know. But I can't if you're just drunk and lonely. I can be your friend, I'll always be your friend. And I could--" His courage fails him, and he has to look away. "I could be your boyfriend," he manages, but barely. It feels like too much and not enough, all at once. "But I can't just be the guy you go to when you're drunk and want to get laid," he continues, steadier. "I can't give you that." She doesn't have a response, and he wasn't really expecting one. He just takes his coffee and gives her a small smile. "Anyway. Later."

He gets a text from Blake about an hour later: _so your life did some shit, huh?_

Kyle rubs his face, looking at the text for a long minute before he finally asks, _did she come to you?_

_yeah. she's fine, don't worry. you good?_

He considers it, and finds that, yeah. She went to Blake. That's probably a good sign. She knows she has other people she can count on. _I'm good, thanks_.

He takes his problem set and heads down to the living room to study, and when Raven gets back, she nods to him, goes up and gets her own stuff, and sits with him. They don't say much of anything for a couple hours, and then she says, "I'm hungry, you want pizza?"

"Yeah," he says, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Pizza sounds great."

*

It's some sort of horrific cosmic joke that Collins gets a new girlfriend before Raven gets a new boyfriend; he almost texts Blake to ask how it's possible, but when he goes for his phone, Roma gives him a look like she might cut his hands off, so he skips it. It's not like he's not going to be supportive. He's going to be supportive. He just wants someone to agree with him that there's no justice in the universe. 

"You sure you're okay?" he asks her, once it's the two of them. He knows Raven likes Roma, but he's not sure she likes Roma enough to have honest feelings time with her. He thinks, even with his confession hanging between them, that she still likes him enough for that. That's how he knows they'll be okay.

"Yeah."

"Cool."

He's about to suggest that they play Mario Kart or something when she blurts out, "What if I wanted you to be my boyfriend? Not because of Finn. Because of you."

His heart stops for a second, and he stares at her, trying to make sure that--he's not even sure. He doesn't quite know how to believe her. "Just ask," he says, finally.

She looks back at him, like she's verifying something too, and it's that that really makes him feel better, makes him sure. This isn't a whim. This is--

This is Raven, asking him out. 

"Hey, Wick, you want to get dinner sometime?"

He grins. "Aww, Reyes. I thought you'd never ask."

They just order Chinese this time, eat it on the couch while they watch Netflix, and then it's kind of awkward, because they live together, so it's not like either of them is leaving, and he's not sure if he's allowed to just kiss her or if they're taking it slow or what. He's fine either way, he just--god, he really does not want to fuck this up on the first night.

Raven kicks him. "Why are _you_ nervous? I'm the one who's never even kissed anyone but Finn."

"You kissed me," he points out.

"Yeah, but I was drunk, and you were--" She pauses, doesn't finish the thought. "Anyway, that didn't count. It wasn't a real kiss."

"Oh, it wasn't, huh?" Kyle asks. "See, that's just mean, Reyes. Telling me I don't--"

She kisses him again, and she's still weirdly desperate, like maybe she thinks if she doesn't kiss him, he's going to be upset, or maybe she won't get another chance. He doesn't know what she's thinking, but she definitely deserves a better kiss than the one she's going for, so he slides his hand up to her chin, steadying her, and slows it down, kisses her like he's always thought about kissing her, like--

Like he fucking loves her.

He bumps his nose against hers when he pulls away, smiles when he sees her eyes are still closed. "So, now you kissed someone else," he says. "For real."

"Yeah," she agrees, with a faint smile.

"I'm thinking I should use a lot more tongue next time," he says. "Like, it's not a real kiss unless there's so much tongue it's kind of escaping out of your mouth, you know? You can tell you've _really_ been kissed when there's slobber all over your face and--"

She's laughing. "Oh my god, Wick, shut up," she says, and shoves him, and then they're kissing again, with a normal amount of tongue, and it's fun and easy and just like it should be. Just like he wanted.

*

Fox and Collins break up after a week; Kyle and Raven don't. So there's some justice in the world.


	8. The Mating Habits of the Earthbound Sky Person - Bellamy POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3676992).

"Clarke's going to talk to you, just ignore her," Bellamy tells Octavia. Octavia raises her eyebrows, and he has no idea why he thought she'd listen to that. He rubs his face. "I said--" 

He doesn't really know how to explain the conversation without telling her his entire plan, which, apparently, was not a very good plan to begin with. He just--it seemed like the best way to talk to her about this whole stupid thing. His feelings as a function of what the entire group needs. It made sense.

It did not work out like he hoped.

"She's going to tell you to have a kid, don't listen to her," he settles on. "There's no rush."

Octavia looks even less impressed. "Why were you and Clarke talking about me having a kid?"

"We weren't!" He rubs his face. "I was talking about me and Clarke having a kid, and she--"

"Oh my god, Bell."

"It wasn't--it's not like that."

"Tell me exactly what happened, and why. Seriously, you--how did this even come up?"

Bellamy sighs. He really shouldn't have said anything, but it probably would have been worse if she'd just heard directly from Clarke. "I told her we should expand our population. Since we're stable now. It makes sense. We're the leaders, if we had a kid it would be--"

"You couldn't have just told her you're in love with her?"

He winces. "I never said that."

She rolls her eyes. "You didn't have to, it's obvious."

"If it's obvious, I shouldn't have to tell her either," he says. He knows he sounds petulant and immature, but he doesn't really have any better response. He thought it was obvious too, but--Clarke doesn't seem to have any idea.

"You need to apologize. And just tell her."

"Just tell her?" he asks, because--that sounds more terrifying than going to fucking Mount Weather, worse than anything else he's done since he got to Earth. He can't just _tell her_.

Octavia throws her hands up. "Okay, fine, woo her then. You know, flowers, picnics, romantic stuff. God, Bell, haven't you ever had a girlfriend?"

He hasn't, actually; he doesn't think sleeping with a few random girls over the course of his life really counts as _having a girlfriend_. But he doesn't want to tell his baby sister, who is practically _married_ , that. "Fine, I'll woo her," he grumbles.

"Apologize first!" she tells him, and he waves vaguely over his shoulder.

*

The picnic is easiest. All he has to do is get some food and a reason for them to leave the camp, which is easy. There's always something to do.

"Up and at 'em, Princess," he says, barging into her cabin. They've got a ways to go, and she's sleeping later than he expected her to.

She blinks up at him, and he maybe shouldn't have come in here. He can see her bare shoulders and she looks tired and rumpled and beautiful. "Bellamy, what?" she asks, voice rough from sleep.

"We have to check out that bunker the scouting party found the other day, remember?" he says. "See what we can get out if it. Get dressed."

She pulls his jacket off her face. "We have to go now? The sun isn't even up."

He grins at her. "Wanna make sure we've got enough time. Put that on, it's chilly."

"You know I'm naked, right?" she grumbles, which--no, how would he know that? And now he can't not know it.

"You sleep naked?" he asks, squinting at her. He's not going to think about it.

"Get _out_ , seriously. I'll meet you in ten."

The picnic is nice. Relaxing. She looks happy, and even lies down for a while to bask in the sun. He doesn't know if she feels wooed, but he'd take happy and relaxed over wooed any day.

*

"Did you really drop a flower on her?" Octavia asks.

Bellamy has his head in his hands. "Shut up."

"I told you to _give her flowers_ , not--"

"I panicked!"

"You dropped a flower on her head and ran away."

"I was there, I know."

"In twenty years, when you guys are married and have five kids, I'm going to tell them all about how their dad dropped a flower on their mom's face and ran away."

"Thanks, O."

*

"She'll like it," Lincoln tells him. 

Bellamy looks down at the book; he's put a little detail into the cover, neat, careful stitches that make a nice pattern. It's strange to sew again, beyond minor repairs on clothing. He hasn't done it since his mother died, and doing it for Clarke makes him feel like his chest is too small.

He opens it up and writes _For Clarke, from B_ on the front page. "Thanks for the help," he tells Lincoln. Lincoln claps him on the shoulder, and he'll admit that it's a solid hit. Lincoln is really fucking strong.

He does not drop the sketchbook on her head; he hands it to her, like a real person. She doesn't even notice the design on the cover because she immediately opens it up and starts flipping through, checking the blank pages, admiring the binding. It makes him smile; she'll notice later.

She stops at the inscription, traces her fingers over his words. It feels more intimate than he expected. "What's this for?" she asks, cocking her head at him.

He takes a breath, rubs the back of his neck and then drops it back down to his side, tries to be steady. Cool. Mature. He's going to tell her. "O says I have to make a move at some point. She thinks I'm being too subtle." He licks his lips. "I've never really done this before."

As confessions go, it's pretty bad. But he didn't ask her to have his child, and she seems to understand what he means. That's all that really matters.

She closes the book and slides her fingers over the patterns he wove into the cover. "I remember you doing a lot when we first got here."

"That was different," he says, looking away.

"Yeah, you didn't want to repopulate the Earth with them," she teases.

He groans, trying not to blush. She's never going to let him live that down. "Yeah, well."

"You could have just said," she says, soft.

"I tried that, remember?"

He sees her shock, and apparently it might still be too soon for him to say he wants to have kids with her. But she should really know he's serious. He's so fucking serious. He--

She kisses him. 

He takes a second to recover fro the shock and then slides his hands around her, pulling her close, kissing her like he's wanted to ever since she got back, since even before then. It feels like he's been waiting forever to kiss Clarke Griffin.

It doesn't last nearly long enough, because she is on watch, and no one could just pretend not to see them, out of politeness, so she pulls back.

"A little privacy?" Bellamy yells. "Shut up and get back to work."

Clarke laughs. "It still works if I make a move, right?" she asks.

"Yeah," he says. "That works."

He likes to think it was a group effort.


	9. Ad Multos Annos - Clarke POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3996334).

It starts when Clarke spots the same copy of _Bulfinch_ Bellamy has at a used book store, and she wants to buy it. Not that they need it, since, again, he already has it, and she has a copy of her own too, but--it's the same edition she was reading when they kissed for the first time, and that feels meaningful. She has a lot of positive associations with that book.

So she buys it and spends a while looking for cool art projects with books, but it's not until she stumbles across a how-to guide for turning books into hiding places that she decides to propose.

"This is what you came up with?" Raven asks. "Really?"

"What's wrong with it?" Clarke asks. Hollowing out the book isn't hard, but it is repetitive and time consuming, so it's nice to have company. "I want to marry him. It's romantic. You got engaged so Wick would give you five bucks, you can't judge me."

"And I used that five bucks to buy beer," she says, proud. "What if he proposes first?"

"Then I'll put something else in here. And it would be funny. Like the _Gift of the Magi_ , except not tragic. Just funny."

Raven cocks her head. "You know, I always sort of figured you were an old-fashioned girl. Like, you'd want him to propose to you. Down on one knee, at a fancy restaurant, the whole nine yards."

"Huh," says Clarke, frowning as she cuts the pages from the book carefully. "I dunno. Not really. We know we're getting married. I figure he'll propose sometime, but if I have a good idea for how to do it, why shouldn't I? My life isn't lacking in romance."

Raven shakes her head. "You guys are adorable."

"Thanks for noticing."

Despite that, she is actually nervous about the whole thing. Not that she thinks Bellamy will say no, but it's just--what if he thinks it's stupid? What if he really _did_ want to propose first, and he's upset she stole his thunder? What if he doesn't want to wear a ring?

"So, I take it my birthday present isn't fragile," he teases her, after she panics and literally throws the present at him. "Or you're really bad at thinking through your fake-casual gestures."

"Fake-casual?" she asks, a little affronted.

You've been doing this for years. Every time you're nervous about something, you act like you don't give a shit. It's so obvious. You threw my present at me on my eighteenth birthday too. When you gave me that drawing. Eight years, and you haven't learned a thing," he says, all fond amusement.

She bumps his shoulder. "Open your present, Bellamy."

"Oh hey, it's a book," he remarks, which is what he says pretty much every year. He _loves_ books. Books and booze. He's the easiest person to shop for ever.

She can see his confusion when he spots the cover; she knows better than to buy him a book he already has. He opens it up, curious, and her heart is in her throat as he traces the rings with one finger, slow, almost reverent. He's just staring, unmoving except for his hands. and she can't handle it

"Yours is iron," she says. "I know guys don't usually wear engagement rings, but it felt kind of weird to give you a ring for myself for your birthday. That's not really much of a present. And apparently Romans wore iron rings, so, you know." She realizes she's babbling and reigns it in, tucks her hair behind her ear. "You want to marry me?" she asks, and her voice doesn't shake at all.

"You're not even getting down on one knee?" he asks, still sounding shell-shocked. "You threw the engagement ring at my face."

"Is that a yes?" 

He takes his ring and makes to put it on, but she stops him and puts it on him herself. That's how it's supposed to be. 

"I got you a nicer ring," he tells her, voice soft. "It's got a diamond and everything. I was going to propose on Valentine's Day, like a total cliche. Miller made fun of me."

She lets out a laugh, louder than it should be, relieved. "Yeah, that would have been a total cliche. You should have thrown something at me. That's _original_."

He puts her ring on for her too, and it's just as romantic as she ever could have wanted. "Very original."

"So, he didn't mind?" Raven asks. Clarke's wearing her ring and the one Bellamy got her, and she can't stop touching either of them.

"Nope. He was going to propose on Valentine's Day, so he's actually glad I saved us from having a very boring engagement story. Now it's romantic and kind of violent, which is obviously awesome."

"Yeah, but you don't beat me unless you fight a robot at your wedding," says Raven, smug.

"You're way out of my league," Clarke admits, laughing. "I'm not even going to try to beat you. But this way worked out pretty well for me," she adds, soft, twisting the ring on her finger.

"You are such a sap," Raven says, rolling her eyes, and Clarke doesn't bother denying it. "Have you picked which mythology names you're going to use for your kids yet?"

Hector if it's a boy, Diana if it's a girl. "No comment," she says, and Raven laughs and laughs.

Clarke just plays with her ring some more. She doesn't care what Raven thinks, they're awesome.


	10. Just As You Are - Bellamy POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got four requests for this one; this is all of them mashed together. Original fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3847861)!

Octavia has an end-of-summer sleepover the same night as Wick's "Fuck, It's Senior Year," party, so Bellamy figures he should probably go. Parties started feeling weird around the end of last year--he's never as drunk as everyone else, just in case he has to leave, so finding girls sober enough he doesn't feel like he's taking advantage of them is tough, and he's maybe just getting too old for the whole hookup thing. Which is pathetic, and he's not going to tell anyone. But skipping the party feels even more pathetic, so he goes and hangs out with his friends and comes up with reasons not to hit on the drunk girls Wick suggests. It's a technical improvement on sitting at home alone.

He's waiting in line for the keg out of a general lack of anything else to do, trying to figure out how early he can leave without feeling both old and sad. Wick's distracted with some hot sophomore, so he won't notice. Or he'll just assume Bellamy found someone to go home with. Either way, fairly safe, and Wick's probably the only one who might care.

He sees the girl in front of him dicking around on her phone, so he asks, "Oh, hey, what time is it?"

She blinks large blue eyes at him. She's pretty, in a girl-next-door kind of way, and vaguely familiar. "Uh, quarter to one," she says.

"Cool, thanks." He cocks his head, trying to place her. The cup in her hand is what finally jogs his memory. "You were playing beer pong earlier, right?" She's the one Wick thought he should hook up with tonight; he dismissed her out of hand. There was something about the way she grinned and whooped when she won, the way the spark of triumph lit up her eyes, that felt dangerous.

"Yeah."

"You're really good."

"Thanks, that's how I know I'm getting the most out of my college education," she says, weirdly irritated. Apparently she's in a bad mood.

"I got it," he says, going for the keg when it frees up, hoping it'll help.

"I know how a keg works," she says, even shorter. He holds up his hands in surrender, trying not to smile. He shouldn't find her irritation adorable, but it really is.

"Just trying to be polite," he says, and can't help adding, "Sorry, Princess," just to rile her up.

"You suck at being polite." It's definitely true, but he thinks that's probably just a lucky guess. He's been perfectly friendly; she's the one biting his head off for no reason.

"Well, fuck you too," he says, but it comes out friendly. She's--cute. Really cute. 

She pours two beers and shoves one at him, spilling a little on his shirt, and takes off. He watches her go, feeling disconcerted. 

Dangerous. That was definitely the right word. She's dangerous.

He gives the beer to the kid behind him in line, who looks about twelve, but whatever. If he got into the party, he deserves a beer. And Bellamy's leaving anyway.

He sees the blonde girl again on his way out, chatting with her hot friend and Wick, laughing and apparently having a good time. Part of him is perversely tempted to go over and talk to them, introduce himself, see how riled up he can get her.

He leaves instead, ducks out while no one is paying attention to him and drives home. The house feels empty, even though it's not like Octavia would be down here if she was home. She spends most of her time these days in her room, on the shitty laptop he managed to buy for her last birthday. From what he's read, that's normal. But he still likes it better when she's _here_ , when he can hear her padding around upstairs or typing, reminding him why he's doing this.

Wick texts, _blonde girl is awesome, bad choices, bro_ , around two, and Bellamy smiles a little as he heads up to bed.

"Have fun at your party?" he asks Octavia on their way home the next day.

"Yeah! What about you?" She shoots him a distrustful look. "You did go to a party, didn't you?"

Bellamy rolls his eyes and shoves her head gently. "Yes, I went to a party. What are you worrying about?"

"Did you get laid?"

"Jesus, O."

"What? You used to get laid. And now--"

He rubs his face. "You don't have to worry about my sex life, okay? You're thirteen. You still think the stork brings babies."

"I never thought the stork brought babies. _You_ told me where babies come from. When I was six."

"Well, pretend I didn't," he says, trying to sound stern, but it's a little funny.

"I know you used to have a life," Octavia says, soft, and he realizes she's not smiling. "I know you don't anymore because of me."

He feels like about the worst person ever to have lived. "Hey," he says, gently. "It's okay, O. I'm good." He pauses and admits, "I did meet a girl I liked last night, okay? I swear." It's technically true; he doesn't know her name, he barely talked to her, and she hated him, but he did like her.

She brightens instantly, and he thinks he might have gotten played there. "Really? Tell me about her! Are you going to see her again?"

"God, don't be a brat." He smiles ruefully, tries to come up with something else true he can say. He finally settles on, "I don't know. I hope so."

*

She comes into Indra's Latin poetry tutorial, which is one of those things that's just unfair. She's hot, she's apparently interested in Latin poetry, she inexplicably hates him, and he couldn't possibly date her even if she didn't hate him. Plus, it's a tutorial, so he'll either never see her again, or he'll see her every week, just the two of them and Indra, for an hour. The first prospect is unappealing, the second prospect is way too appealing, and he doesn't even know which one he's rooting for.

She spots him, and he sees her stiffen; he can't help smiling and giving her a little salute, because he is a fucking immature asshole. If she was closer, he'd be pulling her non-existent pigtails. There is something seriously wrong with him.

Indra breezes in and says, "All right, partners," without any kind of greeting; she's his favorite professor by far. "Blake, Bellamy and Griffin, Clarke."

He feels a sharp stab of disappointment, looking around the room at the handful of other guys, wondering which of them is Clarke. But he catches the blonde girl's eye as he looks around, and she gives him the same salute he gave her, along with an exasperated look. He has to bite back on a grin, and he sees her trying to hide her amusement as well, a rueful spark in her eye.

He goes over to sit with her once Indra's done and says, "We meet again. What are the odds?"

"One in nine," she says, dry, and he laughs. 

"Bellamy," he says, offering his hand.

She looks like she's thinking about refusing to shake, but she does it at last. He can feel some calluses on her hand, a surprise. "Clarke."

"Nice to formally meet you," he says, and can't help adding, "And, I hate to break this to you, but you really shouldn't be giving anyone else shit for being impolite. Glass houses and all."

"Thanks for the constructive criticism," she says, rolling her eyes, and he's in so much trouble.

*

As a tutorial partner, she's perfect. He's worried by her first paper, which is well-written and reasoned, but she clearly doesn't have much experience with raw Latin, probably spoiled by a high-school curriculum that gave them everything already edited and cleaned up. His response paper is pretty harsh, which he refuses to think about too much; it's either an attempt to further sabotage any chance he might have with her, or to get her riled up because he thinks it's funny, and either way, it's a shitty thing to do.

But then the most amazing thing happens: she doesn't back down. Bellamy's the kind of guy people tend to listen to, mostly due to force of personality. He's a natural leader, and generally, when he says something, people listen, nod, and agree with him.

Clarke doesn't give a fucking _inch_ that he doesn't deserve, and she makes some good points he never thought about. She's even right about some vocab, and finds some stuff he missed. He thinks she might want to murder him, but that's cool too, really. He's not used to people getting as invested in things as he is, and he's writing the best papers of his life just because he doesn't want to give her anything to criticize.

It's also a real problem, because he does not have time to get stupid over a girl, especially not a girl who might actually physically fight him over Latin translations because she thinks he's a dick. The sure knowledge that he has no chance with her should help, but part of him can't help feeling like she likes this whole thing too. They're not friends, by any means, but he thinks they're kind of--friendly rivals. Or something. Friendly-ish.

And then he sees her with Octavia, and that's kind of it.

He thinks he might be hallucinating at first, really, because why would Clarke be sitting in the public library with his sister? He's not sure why she even knows where the public library _is_. Most of the students never even come here.

She's drawing what looks like a barfing face on his paper, and he nearly laughs, but he doesn't want to give himself away. "You're not seriously trying to argue with me about that, are you?" he asks, leaning in close over her shoulder, and she actually jumps.

"Jesus, Bellamy, you scared the shit out of me!" she says, managing to somehow yell at him while still keeping her voice at a library-appropriate volume. It's pretty impressive. "What are you doing here?"

"What am _I_ doing here? You're the one hanging out with my sister, Princess." Octavia is watching him with interest, but she turns her attention to Clarke when he catches her eye.

"You know Bell?" she asks.

"We're tutorial partners. You're the art teacher here?" he asks Clarke. Between pre-med and teaching art, she's got to be almost as busy as he is. "When do you sleep?"

"At night," she snaps, shoving her papers into her notebook so he can't read her notes. "I didn't know you were from around here," she says, in a different voice. It's not really the _ew, townie_ voice he's heard from more that one student, but it still makes him flinch a little. People get weird about it, sometimes.

"Yeah," he says shortly, and turns his attention back to his sister. "You ready to go, O?"

She does not look impressed with him. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom. Watch my stuff?"

He remembers her saying that she's usually the last one to leave, and it occurs to him that Clarke probably noticed that and decided to stick around so she wouldn't be alone. He gives her a small smile. "Thanks for keeping her company."

She shrugs, embarrassed. They don't really do earnest conversations. "I was just planning to work anyway. It's nice of you to help your parents out," she adds, clearly meaning to be nice, but it hits him like a punch. Of course she'd assume that. It's not even offensive; it's logical. But he can't just tell her. He doesn't know how. It's so much to just _say_.

"Yeah, that's me," he says, flat. "Mr. Nice Guy."

She looks hurt, in a way he hasn't seen before, and he feels like the biggest jerk of all time, like he's done something really _bad_. "I didn't mean it in a bad way," she says, soft, and he runs his hand through his hair.

"No, I know." He tries a smile. "You want a ride back to campus? It's on my way." It's not like campus is far, but it's the best apology he can come up with.

"Oh, uh, no, that's fine," she says, recovering. "I live in Garfield, it's like ten feet away."

He nods. "Then I'll see you tomorrow?" He tries out a teasing grin. "I can already tell it's going to be a disaster, your notes are a mess."

"Maybe if your paper wasn't such a mess--" she shoot back, and he laughs.

"Bye, Princess."

She doesn't miss a beat. "Bye, asshole."

Octavia's quiet for most of the drive home, but she finally says, thoughtful, "So, Clarke's the girl you like, huh?"

It's profoundly unfair, really. He never lies to Octavia, not if he can help it, but it's just so fucking _unlikely_ , that this girl he barely talked to at a party is also his tutorial partner and also Octavia's art teacher. She shouldn't be right about this. She shouldn't be so sure.

"Yeah," he says, resigning himself to it. "That's the girl I like."

*

The next party of Wick's Bellamy makes it to isn't until November, a week after Halloween, and he mostly goes because he has figured out, from context clues, that the hot girl Wick is hooking up with is Clarke's roommate, which means that there's a pretty good chance Clarke will be there. He finds Wick watching the roommate, Raven, play beer pong, but there's no sign of Clarke, and he can't ask Wick about it, because then Wick will know he's looking for her, and that just sounds like a fucking disaster. So he pours himself a beer from the keg and makes a circuit of the house, trying to find her on his own. Then he feels kind of creepy, and talks to his other friends for a while, hangs out like a normal person, even dances a little.

When he spots her, she's talking to Collins, which is--god, she should not be talking to Collins. He extricates himself from Miller and Monty and goes over. She's laughing and playing with her hair, so obviously into this conversation, and he kind of wants to die.

"Hey, Princess," he says, shooting Collins a look that he hopes says, _they will never find your body if you fuck this up_. He knows it's an asshole move, but Clarke can tell him to fuck off if she wants. Clarke’s really good at telling him to fuck off.

But when she sees him she _grins_ , so bright it feels almost like a physical blow. She grins at him like she's never been so happy to see anyone in her life, and he has no idea how to handle that. It's actually less disconcerting when she hugs his arm, all bizarre, drunken enthusiasm, and he laughs and smiles helplessly down at her.

"Hi," he says, softer, just for the two of them.

"Hi!" she says. She must be _really_ drunk. She's so perky, it's a little scary. On the other hand, it's kind of awesome that she's apparently this happy to see him when she's drunk. He sort of figured she'd want to kick his ass even more than usual. "I didn't think you were gonna show up again. Do you know Finn? This is Finn."

Collins does not look particularly enthusiastic that Clarke has gone from flirting with him to beaming at Bellamy like he's her actual favorite person in the world. Which is fine; Bellamy is enjoying it enough for the both of them. "Yeah, I know him." He gives him a curt nod. "Hey, Collins."

"Blake," says Finn, nodding back. "I didn't know you two were friends."

"We're tutorial partners," he says. Clarke frowns, and Bellamy is pretty sure he's grinning like an idiot. She's drunk and she thinks they're friends. Which means she probably always thinks that, but isn't willing to admit it. "She's awesome," he continues, nominally to Collins, but he can't take his eyes off Clarke. "She hit me with Ovid a few weeks ago."

"Clarke, did you want another drink?" Collins asks, pointed.

"Another?" Bellamy asks, throwing a glare at Collins before looking back at her. "How many have you had?"

She frowns, like she's thinking about it hard. "Probably enough. I'm pretty drunk."

"You don't say." He tugs his arm out of her grip and puts it around her instead. She snuggles against him, and he hopes she isn't embarrassed tomorrow. He'd love it if this was their new normal. Lots of smiling and casual affection would really work for him. "Come on, let's get you some water or something," he says, squeezing her shoulder.

"Sure," she says, and lets him guide her toward the kitchen.

"What did you do?" he can't help asking. "I thought you were good at beer pong."

"I am good at beer pong," she says, scowling at the floor. "This was Kings. Fucking Kings."

"Fucking Kings."

"You haven't been here in a while," she muses. She sort of flails her hand a bit, like she's trying to make it do something complicated, and he bites back a smile. She's adorable. "Because of Octavia?"

"Yeah," he says, giving her a bottle of water. "She's sleeping over at a friend's house tonight, so I figured I'd come out."

She drags him through the party and outside onto the porch; it's kind of cold, but there's no way he's leaving her to get his coat. She's being nice and affectionate and acting like she likes him. He might never leave.

She apparently wants to sit, and it's probably even colder sitting on the stone porch, but he does it anyway, and she immediately curls into his side. He puts his arm around her again, since she doesn't seem to mind. She's a very cuddly drunk. "You're not drinking?" she asks.

"I had a beer. But I want to be good to drive if there's an emergency."

"You're a really good brother," she says, smiling. "But don't worry, I won't be nice to you about it."

He smiles too. "Oh good."

"Is that why you aren't looking for anyone?" she asks.

"Anyone for what?" He's not drunk, but he's having a little trouble following her train of thought. Besides, he _was_ looking for someone. He was looking for her.

"A girl." She makes a face, like she's working through something. "I guess that's why that's why you just pick the girls you want."

"What?" 

"Because of Octavia."

"No," he says. There's something heavy in his stomach; this feels like dangerous territory. "What about picking girls?"

"You said you only get one night, so you just go for the girls you really want."

It's definitely something he _has_ said, more than once. It's the kind of dumb, macho thing he says to Wick and his other guy friends, when they're shooting the shit, talking about girls. And it's true, in a sort of weird, limited sense. When he hooks up, he just finds the hottest girl in the room and goes for it. But he hasn't done that in a while. And he's never said that to _Clarke_. He's not a fucking idiot.

"When did I ever say that?" he asks.

"I heard you talking to Wick. That first party. He was telling you to hit on me, and you said--"

"Oh fuck," he breathes. He remembers that conversation; it was _before he fucking met her_. No wonder she was so pissed when he tried to pour her beer for her. She probably thought he was, god. That he was desperate and decided she'd do since he couldn't get anyone better or something. He remembers how quickly he shut Wick down, how casually, like it didn't mean anything. He drops his head against the wall, closing his eyes. No wonder she thought he was such a fucking asshole. "You heard that?"

"Yeah." She doesn't sound concerned. "Kind of shallow, but I guess it's pretty hard to date when you're taking care of a teenager. Plus, if I could hook up with me or Raven, I'd definitely pick Raven, so I don't blame you. But I'm glad you didn't, she really likes Wick."

He rubs his face. He doesn't know how to even start correcting her about this. It's such a fucking stupid mess. He should have just told Wick he didn't know about the whole hooking up thing, that he wasn't sure the party scene was really his thing anymore. He should have said, _she looked really cool, but you know I can't do anything serious_. Wick wouldn't have given a shit. "I can't believe you heard that," he says. "Fuck."

"It's okay. I don't really think you're a totally shallow douchebag anymore."

"Great." He uncaps the water for her, noticing she hasn't yet. "Seriously, drink that."

"You're still kind of a dick," she observes, but she sounds _fond_. If nothing else, she was really happy to see him. That's something, right?

"I know."

She leans her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. "I'm kind of a dick too."

"I definitely know that," he says, trying for teasing and not getting it. He hopes she's too drunk to notice.

"You don't have to feel bad. You didn't know I could hear you. Everyone says stuff to their friends they wouldn't say to other people." She smiles a little. "I'm not offended you don't want to fuck me."

He laughs a little, because of all the things for her to think, that is--he doesn't even know. It's not like the primary thing he wants to do is fuck her, but, god, he wants that too. He wants everything, and she thinks he's not interested at all. "You're really drunk," he says, because it seems pointless to try to explain anything when she might not even remember this tomorrow.

"I think I'm down to pretty drunk."

He smiles and squeezes her shoulder. "Just drink the damn water."

She does as she's told, draining the whole bottle in one go, and then half-falling asleep on him, her hand tangled in his t-shirt. At least she doesn't hate him _now_. But, god. Fucking seriously.

He stays until he starts getting too cold and then shakes her awake. "Hey. Go tell your roommate I'm giving you a ride home, okay? You're not allowed to walk home alone."

"I was gonna make out with Finn," she says, frowning, and he tries not to wince. If she fucking hooks up with _Finn Collins_ , he's going to fucking _cry_. Not, he knows, that he'd necessarily have a chance with her if she hadn't heard him say all that stupid shit. Not that he should want her anyway, when he has school and two jobs and an actual teenage dependent, but--he wants her so fucking much, and maybe, if he told her, she'd want him too. "But home sounds better."

"Good," he mutters. "It should."

He grabs his coat and meets her back outside; she grins when she spots him, like she missed him in the ten minutes they were apart, and he still can't help smiling back. She doesn’t think she’s an asshole anymore. "Thanks for the ride," she says. "Getting home was going to suck."

"Fucking Kings," he says, very serious.

She laughs and leans against him again as they walk to the car. "Fucking Kings."

*

Octavia is spending the day with her friends; it's some whole weird birthday party weekend, the details of which he mostly ignored, so Bellamy has absolutely nothing to distract him the next morning. He sleeps poorly, wakes up early, and writes his tutorial paper out of sheer desperation to have something to do. Then he boots up Civilization 4 and tries to lose himself in that, but its only about a half an hour before he gets an email notification, just the word _Thanks_ for Clarke, and he cannot fucking do this.

He grabs his phone and stares at her contact information for a long minute. They exchanged numbers the first week of class, just in case, but he's never called her, and his courage doesn't go that far. He opens up a text message instead, stares at it for another minute and finally just types, _so listen seriously i don't care if you think i'm a dick, i am a dick_

The real problem is that he doesn't know what to _say_ , exactly. He doesn't want to say something stupid, like, _fyi I'd totally fuck you_ , because that's really not what it's about. It's just--how can she not _know_? It doesn't even quite make sense, how upset he is, because it's not like he thought she knew how he felt about her before. He just can't deal with her being so wrong about it. 

He types out _but it really really bugs me that you live in a world where you don't know i think you're gorgeous and fucking amazing_ in a rush and hits send before he can rethink it. He looks at the words for a minute, and then adds, _you're not the kind of girl anyone should be able to hook up with just once_ , and finally, _you're definitely not the kind of girl i could hook up with just once_ , and then he just sort of stares at his phone in mute horror, because he actually sent her all that shit. He just told Clarke Griffin he thinks she's gorgeous and fucking amazing and he wants to hook up with her multiple times.

He changes into shorts and a t-shirt and goes for a long run, because he has too much energy and adrenaline, and he cannot sit still. He keeps his phone in his pocket, just in case, but it doesn't buzz the whole time he's out. He showers for a lot longer than is strictly necessary, but when he gets out, she has texted him back. He looks at the phone for a minute, not totally ready for an answer, but not knowing is worse.

She's sent: _Consider my world view altered_ , and then, _Thanks for taking care of me last night._

He closes his eyes, lets out a long breath. Smiles. She might not want him, but at least--well, it's a lot better than it could have been. It's a start.

 _any time_ , he tells her, and it's absolutely true.

*

Bellamy loves the Wednesday before Thanksgiving; there no classes, and the admissions office doesn't ask the work study students to come in, which means he has an actual, for real day off. He's planning to spend the entire day playing video games in his pajamas, as usual, but Octavia comes down around one and says, "You're aware I want to go the library, right?"

"Why?"

"Art class."

He frowns. "Isn't that an after-school thing?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So it's probably canceled. No school, no after-school programs."

"Clarke said she'd be there and anyone who wanted to come was welcome."

His frown deepens. "What's she even still doing here?"

"I don't know. You could come and ask her."

"Subtle."

"Anyway," Octavia says, pointed, "you should probably take a shower and make yourself presentable or whatever. We should leave at like 2:30? I'm giving you lots of warning so you can primp. Trust me, you do not want her to see you looking like this."

Bellamy scowls at her. "You know you're not living in _The Parent Trap_ , right?"

"God, this is absolutely nothing like _The Parent Trap_. Have you even seen _The Parent Trap_?"

"No," he admits, and drags himself off the couch. "I'm not coming to your art class to stalk your teacher!" he yells over his shoulder as he heads to the shower.

"Your loss!" she shouts back.

*

He drops her off and goes over to Schow to work on homework, but he gets impatient after about forty-five minutes and figures that's close enough to the end of the class to go pick her up. He'd say he can't believe that his sister made him take her to the library for an hour-long class just because she knows he has a crush on the teacher, but, well. Of course he can believe it. It's Octavia, and she's apparently feeling guilty about his social life.

He doesn't know how big the class usually is, but there aren't very many kids packing up when he gets there, so he figures they probably took heavy holiday attrition. Clarke's in the activity room still, not at the tables with Octavia, wearing a paint-smeared smock, with her hair in a messy bun. She's got paint on her arms too, and some on her face; if he didn't know better, he'd assume they were actually throwing it at her.

He gives her a pretty blatant once-over when she spots him, because it's a good look for her and he's only human; she turns bright red. They haven't talked about how he feels about her, but Wick asked him about it, which means Clarke probably talked to Raven, which means she's probably been thinking about it. He expected it to stress him out, but he's weirdly zen about the whole thing. The ball's in her court; he doesn't have to do anything. Either she likes him, or she doesn't.

"Hi Bell!" says Octavia. She's also covered in paint.

"Did you guys get paintball guns in here or what?"

"Finger-painting," she says, wiggling her fingers at her.

"It was a small group, so we were a little more laid back than sometimes," Clarke adds.

"I'm gonna go clean up," Octavia declares, and he has no doubt she'll take her time with it. It's kind of sweet, really.

"Do you always look like this right after you're done?" he asks Clarke, once they're alone. "Because I could change my shift.

She's still pink, but she answers lightly. "We don't usually paint."

He helps her clean up in silence for a minute, before he has to say, "I wasn't really expecting this to happen this week, honestly. Aren't you going home for Thanksgiving?"

"Nope," she says, easy.

"Why not?"

"My mom works a lot." The easiness is still there, but it sounds a little more forced, like she's trying very hard not to care. Or maybe he's just projecting. Thanksgiving is his favorite holiday. "I'd see her for a few hours and be bored the rest of the time. It's not worth the flight home."

It's times like this he remembers how little he actually knows about her. "Where's home?"

"California."

"So what are you going to do?" he asks.

"Hang out, get some sleep. The dining hall's open, so--what?" she demands, catching his slack-jawed expression.

"No. No way." He can't keep the horror out of his voice. She's not spending Thanksgiving at a _dining hall_. "You're not--it's _Thanksgiving_. Come hang out with us. I leanred how to make turkey last year. I swear it's good. I can pick you up, if you don't mind coming over early so I can do it before I start cooking." He has a sudden vision of her looking around their tiny, shitty house and is preemptively embarrassed, but it's better than the vision of her alone in her dorm room. "It's not going to be anything fancy, but--"

Clarke's smiling, just a little, like she maybe doesn't realize she's doing it. "Just text me your address," she says. "I have a car. I can drive myself over, if you really don't mind having me."

He surprises himself with a grin. "Well, it wouldn't be the same, if I didn't get to see you on Thursday."

She smiles back, sure, this time. "Yeah, it wouldn't. I'll see you tomorrow, Bellamy."

"So, she's coming over for Thanksgiving," he tells Octavia in the car, and she fucking _cackles_.

*

They stop by the store on the way home, buy some extra potatoes and beans and another bag of stuffing. He grabs a can of cranberry sauce too, even though he always makes his own, from his mother's recipe. They use raw cranberries, and maybe Clarke won't like it. Octavia teases him, because Mom always told them the canned stuff was an abomination, and Bellamy glares at her.

"It's Thanksgiving," he says. "She should have what she likes too."

"Whatever you say, Bell."

He texts her the next morning at ten to tell her they're eating around six, but she's welcome whenever she wants to come over. She texts back that she'll come after lunch, and he tries not to be too excited. It'll be the most time they've ever spent together, which is strange to think about. They've only really known each other for a handful of non-class hours, at best, so it doesn't really make any sense, that she should mean so much to him, that he should feel like they know each other so well.

Octavia isn't much of a cook, but she watches the parade with him, and the dog show, and then tries to absent herself when Clarke shows up, but there's no way he's going to let her hide on Thanksgiving in an attempt to hook him up. It's a family holiday. So he drags her back downstairs, and he and Clarke cook while Octavia channel surfs. She stays mostly quiet, letting him and Clarke carry the conversation, but Clarke manages to draw her out gradually, asking about classes and friends until she's fully participating. She's really good with his sister, and it's almost too much. It's too easy to think of her coming for dinner regularly, sleeping over afterward, being around and a part of his whole life.

Octavia escapes upstairs again while Clarke's on the phone with her mom, claiming she needs to check on her social networks, and he's grateful she's gone when Clarke comes back in and immediately leans into him. It's the first time she's done it since the party a few weeks ago, and the only time she's ever done it sober.

"Hey, did I thank you for inviting me?"

"Not in so many words, but I wasn't offended."

"I know, but--thanks."

He's not ready to let her go after dinner, and he's pleased when she seems just as reluctant to leave. It's not even hard to convince her to stay the night. Octavia takes off again, no surprise, and the two of them end up watching the shittiest movies Clarke can find on Netflix and drinking. It's actually awesome.

"Why didn't you tell your entry about your mom?" she asks, halfway into some bizarre monstrosity of a movie with weird hobo surfer Santa teaching a single mom about the magic of the season.

"Collins tell you that?" he asks.

"Yeah."

He takes a long drag of beer. "I told Wick, I liked Wick. Everyone else--I didn't want a bunch of people I wasn't that close to telling me how sorry they were about it. I had enough of that from my mom's friends. I've always been pretty private, none of them knew I was local or anything. Thank god I'm not on Facebook, or I never would have been able to keep it quiet," he says, smiling a little. The whole thing had been awful, and the pity had been the worst part. He fucking hates being pitied. "I told the school, obviously, and all my professors know, because if there was an emergency with Octavia, I'd have to take off immediately, and I have some scheduling issues because of work. Other than that, it's no one's business."

"Sorry I pried," she offers. "Went behind your back and found out from Octavia."

He smiles into his beer. "I don't mind you knowing." He's honestly grateful to his sister; he wanted her to know without him telling her, and she does.

"Why don't you like Finn?" she asks. She doesn't sound upset, just curious.

"Who said I don't like him?" he asks, petulant, and she gives him an unimpressed look until he cracks. "He's not a bad guy or anything," he says, carefully. It's probably true. Collins spent their freshman year hooking up as much as possible, but Bellamy did that too. But Collins hooked up with Roma, who was in their entry, and let her find out he wasn't serious about it when he brought a parade of other girls back, right past her open door. He's not a bad guy, just a thoughtless one. If he's honest, he probably dislikes Collins because he's worried that's what people think of him. "He's just--he's the kind of guy who tells a girl he'll call her even though he knows he won't, because he thinks if he just says he's not planning to call, he'll be a bad guy. I'm a dick, but at least I'm honest about it. He's not a good guy for you, definitely," he can't help adding, and she smiles.

"What are you taking next semester?" she asks, out of nowhere.

"Uh, the usual, I guess," he says, trying to remember. "History, Greek, some intro philosophy course for my div 2 requirement, history of science for div 3. Why?"

"We're not gonna have a class together next semester," she says.

He puts his arm around her and gives her a friendly squeeze. "Gonna miss me, Princess?" he teases.

She doesn't pick up the joke; she's earnest when she says, "Yeah."

It's somehow totally unexpected, even though he knew they were friends. He has to bite back a smile. "Well, don't worry," he tells her, tugging her a little closer. "You're not ditching me that easily."

When he comes downstairs, she's asleep on the couch, still wearing his pajamas, and he has to take a minute to look at her before he goes into the kitchen. He makes pancakes for breakfast, and she doesn't leave until two, which still feels too soon. 

"Thanks again for inviting me," she says. He's leaning on the door frame, resisting the urge to ask her to stay. He still doesn't like the idea of her alone in her dorm room. Campus is mostly deserted.

"Any time." 

She smiles, leans up and kisses his cheek, and then goes, leaving him staring after her.

"You're pathetic," Octavia tells him cheerfully, once he drags himself back inside.

He smacks her head lightly as he walks past. "Don't be a brat."

*

Octavia is going to a slumber party on the last Friday of the semester, so Bellamy texts Wick to see if there's anything going on at his place. Unfortunately, he's got an actual date with Clarke's roommate, which, good for him, but it means that if Bellamy wants to see her (and he really does), he has to do something drastic to make it happen, like actually asking if she wants to hang out. This is the problem with living off campus; it's easy to run into people when everyone lives in the dorms and eat in the dining halls, but not when you're off on your own. Even though she said she was going to miss him, that she wants to keep seeing him, he doesn't feel like he can just ask. He doesn't know how.

He has a text message to her open and he's kind of periodically staring at it, trying to figure out what to say, while also making no progress on his history final paper. It's shaping up to be a really productive afternoon.

The phone rings around five, when he's finally gotten into a groove writing, and for an irrational moment he thinks he willed Clarke to call him or something equally absurd, but the call from is a blocked number. It's either some weird spam thing or something important, so he picks up with a frown. "Hello?"

"Is this Bellamy Blake?"

The woman has the kind of no-nonsense tone he remembers too well from endless calls with social services after his mother died, the official-government-business voice. He straightens up, takes a deep breath. The last thing he needs is someone deciding he's an unfit guardian during fucking finals. "Yes, this is Bellamy. How can I help you?"

"This is Senator Abigail Griffin," she says, and Bellamy scrambles to remember who his senator is. Not that he's done anything in his life to warrant his senator calling him, but it seems more likely than any of the other senators calling him. "Clarke's mother," she adds, and he loses the ability to breathe for a moment. He assumed Clarke was upper middle class, decently well off, but he hadn't thought about it too much. It didn't seem that pressing.

"Uh, hi," he says, pulling up Google and plugging the name _Abigail Griffin_ in. The top hit is her Wikipedia article, and it's surreal to recognize the bare bones of Clarke's life in there--lives in San Francisco, democrat, husband, Jake, deceased, daughter, Clarke, 19.

Jesus, Clarke is on _Wikipedia_. 

"I wanted to thank you for having her over for Thanksgiving," says Senator Griffin. "I don't have a lot of spare time, I'm glad she wasn't alone for the holiday."

"Yeah, of course," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "We were happy to have her."

There's a pause, and then the senator says, "This is--awkward." Which is a complete understatement, as far as Bellamy is concerned. "But I have to ask--what are your intentions toward my daughter?"

He's never actually heard anyone ask about _intentions_ before. He sort of figured it died with Jane Austen. And what the hell has Clarke told her, seriously? He almost wants to ask, but asking a fucking _senator_ if her daughter, like, _likes him_ likes him is even worse than unironically asking someone their intentions.

"I think that's between me and her," he says, finally. "No disrespect meant."

She sighs, like she expected this. "You seem like a good kid, Bellamy," and he bristles, because he's twenty-one, seriously. "You're doing a great thing for your sister, and I can see why Clarke likes you so much. But--I need you to tell her you can't date her."

He swallows hard. Apparently he didn't even have to ask. Senator Abigail Griffin is gossiping all on her own. "Why can't I?" he asks, proud when his voice comes out steady.

"Clarke will graduate in three years, and she's going to medical school. You're spoken for for the next five years. You can do the math. It's not fair to her."

"I know," he says, past a lump in his throat. He shouldn't have asked. He already knew. "Shouldn't you be having this conversation with Clarke?"

"She's been ignoring my calls," the senator admits. "After my first try at talking to her about it. I know Clarke can be stubborn, but I need you to be--unselfish, Bellamy. It's up to you to do the honorable thing and break off whatever it is the two of you have going. She's determined this is a good idea, insists she's not giving up on it, but I think you know why it can't last."

"I do," he says, but he can't quite remember. Clarke knows about Octavia. She knows everything her mother is saying, and her mother thinks she doesn't care and wants him anyway. "I'll talk to her," he promises, and means it.

"Thank you for understanding, Bellamy," she says, and Bellamy thinks it's probably bad that if this conversation works out in his favor, his girlfriend's mom is definitely going to hate him. But she'd be his girlfriend.

"Yeah. Nice talking to you," he says, unsure what else to say, and he stares at the phone for a second after they hang up, totally disconcerted. Then he recovers, jumps out of the chair and runs halfway up the stairs. "O! When are you leaving?"

He hears her door and she comes down the hall, frowning. She's wearing her pajamas, looks settled in for the evening, and his stomach turns to lead. "What?"

"I thought you had a slumber party."

"No, Fox is sick, it got canceled. Didn't I tell you? I thought I told you."

She definitely came in during his whole trying to write a paper/compose a text period, but he hadn't paid any attention to what she said to him, because he was still thinking about Clarke. "Shit."

Octavia frowns. "Did you have plans?"

"No. Not really."

"You did!"

He worries his lip. "I was going to, uh. See if Clarke wanted to do something. But I didn't yet, so--"

"Oh!" She looks delighted. "Well, make dinner, and I'll see what I can do? I'll just send out a mass _my dork brother might get laid_ text and see who wants to take me."

He blanches. "Please don't."

"Yeah, you're right. Half of them have a crush on you, they might not want to help."

"That was definitely what I was worried about."

"I'll just say you made plans and ask if anyone can take me."

"You don't have to--"

She glares at him, shockingly fierce. "It's not a fucking _hardship_ , Bell. It might not work, but--"

He wraps his arm around her head. It's a pretty pathetic hug, but the affection is there. It's hard to remember how old thirteen is, because it's really young too. But she's not stupid, and she doesn't need him sacrificing his whole life for her. She can find a friend to crash with so he can try to talk to the girl he likes. "Okay. Thanks. It's--thanks."

She rolls her eyes and shoves him off. "You're an idiot, you know? I like Clarke."

"I know."

"Go make dinner," she tells him, and he's almost done when she comes back down and says, "You can drop me off at Anya's at 8:30."

"Yeah?"

"Yup."

"Thanks," he says again. And then, "Please tell me Anya isn't one of the ones with a crush on me." Anya is his favorite of Octavia's friends, he doesn't want to feel weird about her.

Octavia rolls her eyes. "She thinks you're a dumbass."

"She's not wrong," he says. "Go wash your hands."

*

He thinks about texting Clarke to say he needs to talk to her, but he loses his nerve. Which doesn't even make sense, because it should not be less scary to drive over to her dorm to talk than it is to send her a simple text, but he thinks he does better with her in person. The last time he tried to tell her something important via text, he word-vomited about how he thinks she's fucking amazing and he wants to hook up with her a lot. In-person seems safer.

It only occurs to him when he gets to Garfield that he doesn't even know which room is hers, which--god, how does he have so many weird gaps in his knowledge of her? He needs to sit her down and get some basic information, like her middle name, and her favorite food and color, so that if they end up dating and he has to meet her mother, he won't embarrass himself by failing basic trivia questions.

Luckily, he finds a room with a whiteboard that says _CLARKE AND RAVEN!_ on the first floor, so he doesn't embarrass himself by having to prowl the halls looking for someone who can give him directions. He takes a deep breath, knocks on the door, and then everything falls out of his brain, because she's looking vaguely irritated, wearing pajamas and a tank top, with pencils in her hair, and he's really missed her over the last week. He almost wants to skip the conversation and just kiss her, like in the movies, but he thinks they should talk. Probably. Her mom did yell at him.

Unfortunately, his brain is empty, so he just says, "Fun trivia fact, I got a call from a _United States senator_ today, asking me if I was dating her daughter," instead of greeting her like a normal person.

Clarke gapes at him for a minute. "Uh, yeah," she says, stepping out of the doorway and gesturing him in. "Come in?"

The room is decently sized and mostly clean. There's a pretty obvious divide between her stuff and her roommate's; Clarke has the arty stuff and books on human anatomy, Raven has a bunch of half-deconstructed electronics and gaming systems. It's a little weird, being in her space, seeing all her things. He wants to examine everything.

"She's at Wick's tonight," Clarke offers, seeing his eyes catch on a Wii U.

"I know. I asked him."

"Oh." Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and he thinks about just kissing her again. "It's not really a big deal," she says.

"Which part?"

"The United States senator part."

"Yeah, that's not the part I was focusing on either." He sits down at her desk, waits until she's sitting on her bed before he adds, "But it's kind of weird you never mentioned it."

"It's like mentioning my dad is dead. Except not, you know, awful. It changes what people think of me, and I don't like it. Everyone in my entry knew, and it just kind of sucked. So I don't tell people if I can help it." It makes sense, really. It's like him and Octavia, but, again, not awful. And he might have been scared off, if he'd found out earlier. He's just as happy she waited. "I can't believe she called you," she adds, flopping back on her bed.

He smiles a little. "Apparently you were ignoring her."

"And that makes it okay?"

"I'm just passing on what I was told."

"I'm really sorry," she says, rubbing her face. "That was completely--I'll call and yell at her, that's not okay."

"She told me it would be very difficult for you if you dated me," he says, glancing around the room again so that he doesn't have to look at her. He's only got so much courage. "I told her she was probably right. And she said I should tell you, because apparently you want to date me anyway."

"Oh," she says, faint, and she might say something else, but he's not really paying attention anymore, because there's a drawing of _him_ on her desk. He leans over, and then picks it up to get a better look. It's really good, a view of himself from behind with a slight smirk, like he's looking over his shoulder, sharing a joke with her. There's something strange about the lines, and when he squints at them, he realizes they're not _lines_ , they're the words _gorgeous and fucking amazing_ , over and over, in cursive. 

"That's, um," she starts, and he tears his eyes away from the picture and back to her. She's bright pink, and he's still having a little trouble processing words. "That was just--it got kind of stuck in my head."

"I thought you weren't going to talk to me ever again after I sent those stupid texts," he admits.

"No, um." She smiles down at her hands, still pink. "Those were--those were fine."

He replaces the picture on the desk, careful, looks at it one more time and says, "I'm really fucking crazy about you, you know? I don't know if I've been clear about that. I felt like an asshole telling you, because my life's kind of a mess, and I've got all this--stuff. That I have to take care of before I can even think about anything else. But I really like you, and I'm always thinking about you anyway, and I hope your mom was right about you wanting to date me, because it would suck if I just made this awkward."

She licks her lips, but that's the only slight hesitation; she gets up and comes over, sliding into his lap, and his hands come up to hold her hips without any real input from him. He's leaning up and she's leaning in, and her nose brushes his just before she asks, "Your sister? Is she all set?"

It takes him a second to process the question, because she's _in his lap_ and they're definitely about to make out. When it does click, he grins. None of the girls he's ever hooked up with have known about Octavia, and while he doesn't want to have a lot of conversations about her under these circumstances, it's kind of awesome to have Clarke checking in.

"Sleeping over at a friend's," he tells her, rubbing his thumb over her hip. "She told me, and I quote, _go have some fun, Bell, god, you're pathetic_."

"You are kind of pathetic," Clarke teases, and kisses him.

He surges into it, kissing her with no finesse at all, just raw need. It feels like he's been waiting for this forever, and she kisses him back just as hard. He pulls away for about half a second, just so he can tear her tanktop off, and he slides his hands up to her breasts, making her moan. He wants to do everything at once, can't settle his hands or mouth in just one place. Everywhere he goes, she makes a different sound, and he wants to learn them all.

"There's really no good reason for us to have sex in my fucking uncomfortable desk chair," she manages, laughing a little. "The bed is right there."

He lifts her off him carefully, and she gets kind of stuck in the arms of the chair, dissolves into giggles against his chest, and he has to kiss her again, can't help it. He gets to have this. It doesn't feel real yet.

She pulls his shirt off as soon as they're off the chair, and he pushes her back onto what he really hopes is her bed. He's pretty sure it is. It better be, because he's not going any farther.

"You didn't have anything else to do tonight, did you?" he asks, just to make sure.

"Not a thing," she says, tangling her hand in his hair.

"Awesome." He can't help adding, "I'm, uh. I don't get a lot of chances like this, so you shouldn't get used to it."

She pulls him down for a long kiss. "I know. We'll figure it out."

She makes it sound so _easy_ , and so--obvious. Like of course it's worth figuring out. 

He's worried he's going to say something truly stupidly sappy in response, but she pokes him before he can. "Please don't get responsible on me right now, Raven keeps telling me I need to get laid really badly and I'm pretty sure she's right." And then, soft, a little shy, "I'm crazy about you too. I don't think I said that."

It's not really a surprise, not when she's half naked and smiling up at him, not when she's apparently drawing him in her spare time, but it's still awesome to hear. "You didn't," he murmurs, leaning down for another long kiss. "You could say it more."


	11. What Team? - Bellamy POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3769495)!

Bellamy wakes up hungover to discover that Miller has written _REMINDER: Bellamy called his college radio crush and rambled about High School Musical at her for ten minutes_ on their whiteboard. Which is, you know, mildly unfair. Clarke isn't really his college radio crush, because he's never seen her or spoken to her, he just likes her show. She's sarcastic and funny and while her taste in music isn't exactly his and is occasionally horrific, he kind of likes it anyway. Miller has caught him actually arguing with the radio when she plays something he disapproves of, which is probably where the whole crush thing comes from.

Definitely not anything real, because, again, he's never seen her and he doesn't know her. So that's just not possible.

Even if now he has apparently spoken to her. Drunkenly. To request a song that wasn't even good enough to make it into High School Musical 2.

He rubs his face. "You hungry, O?"

Octavia, who is less hungover than he is, somehow, looks up from the book she's reading. "Are you trying to kill your hangover and embarrassment with food?"

"Are you a brat?"

She pats him on the shoulder. "I bet she thought it was cute."

"I bet she'll never think about it again," he says, and it's almost certainly true. She's probably already forgotten about it. Some random drunk guy called her show. It can't be the first time it's happened.

The thought doesn't comfort him, though; if anything, it makes him more irritable. If he's going to make an idiot of himself in front of (or, over the phone with, whatever) someone, he'd prefer it's at least as memorable for her as it is for him. Or--not that. Something else. He's not actually sure.

The point is, he doesn't want to just let this go. Not because he has a long-distance, radio-based crush on Clarke Griffin. Just because it feels unfinished and unsatisfactory.

Octavia goes off with Roma and Echo to some concert that sounds like actual torture to him, and Miller is out with Monty, so he's home alone on Saturday night. It would be sad, if he didn't have plans.

Scratch that, it's still sad. But a different kind of sad.

"WCFM, this is Clarke."

Her voice is bright and cheerful, maybe even a little relieved, and Bellamy has to admit, it's kind of awesome, talking to her. He doesn't remember that much about it from last night--mostly he was drunk and hyper-focused on winning his argument with O--but he gets this kind of weird, butterfly feeling in his stomach this time, and, yeah. She might be his college radio crush.

"Hi," he says, wetting his lips. "Um, did I call you last night and go on a rant about the High School Musical franchise?"

She fucking _cackles_ , and it takes her a while to recover. He can't keep the smile off his own lips. Maybe she didn't forget about him after all. "If this is Bellamy, then yes, you did. And you made me listen to a really horrific song about a fish princess."

Oh god, she remembers his _name_. It's not really like a celebrity knowing his name, because she is a DJ on a random radio show that airs in the middle of the night and probably has no listeners, but it's still kind of awesome. "Yeah, that was me. She's actually a pineapple princess," he can't help adding, and hits himself in the forehead. He knows he can be kind of pedantic, but--about this? Really? "Would it make it better if I said I was a big fan of your show?" he asks hopefully.

"It doesn't hurt."

And then, somehow, that becomes a _thing_.

*

"Dude, come on!" says Miller.

"It'll just take a minute."

"You know this girl's name," says Miller. "You know she goes here. It would not be hard to just _find her_. This is the fucking saddest thing I have ever witnessed."

"That's just because you aren't watching how badly you suck at flirting with Monty," he says. "Just go, I'll catch up, okay?"

"I hate you."

"I know."

He gives it another five minutes and then hits the _Clarke_ contact on his phone. It only has a work number listed. He is hoping, someday, to populate the mobile number. He's working on it. In possibly the most bizarre and roundabout way of all time, but whatever works, right?"

"WCFM, this is Clarke."

"Hi, I have a song request?"

"Hi, Bellamy."

"Hey."

"So, do you have some sort of job that keeps you from doing exciting things on Fridays?" She pauses and then says, "No, wait, you don't, you were wasted the first time you called."

"I lead a very rich life."

"Sure you do. What are you requesting?"

"Fabulous. Still High School Musical 2."

"It's like you know I bought the whole soundtrack."

He flops back on his bed, grinning. "You did?"

"It's just a way better deal." He hears her typing, assumes she's getting it cued up. "Do you have any good trivia for me on this one?"

"There's this part where a kid is playing the piano in a pool? He's wearing a white and pink suit. In the pool. While he plays the piano. The piano is also white and pink. Bizarre alternate universe."

She laughs. "How many times have you seen this movie?"

"You don't have a younger sister, do you?"

"No."

He's been learning things about her like that slowly, unevenly. He already knew a little, but she'll happily chat with him, seems grateful, even. Probably it gets kind of boring, being all alone in a radio station on Friday and Saturday nights. She never gets to go to parties.

He's doing a public service, in a way.

He finds out she's a sophomore, which he already knew, but she confirms, that she's bisexual (or at least sleeps with both girls and guys, so bisexual seems likely, but he doesn't know her exact identification), that she is not Facebook-stalking him because she doesn't want to be creepy, that she doesn't like coffee but is addicted to caffeine, so she drinks it when there's nothing else available.

That she's smart and funny and interesting and ruining his life, because he goes to meet up with Miller at parties after he calls her and can't summon any desire to hit on anyone, because all he can hear is her voice in his head, and he likes her so fucking much.

*

"Okay, so, Sharpay is your favorite," says Clarke the next week, sounding thoughtful. "Is she an actual dog? Are the humans so bad your favorite is the dog? And did I just cue up a song that is literally all barking on my show? I wouldn't put it past this franchise."

He has to smile. "No, she's not a dog, she's--okay, in any movie that took place in a logical universe, Sharpay and her brother would be the main characters, okay? Except that they're rich, and the rich ones are never the heroes. But they are so fucking dedicated to their art. They worked so hard to get where they are and suddenly these two random people--"

"The actual protagonists of the movie," she cuts in, amused.

"Only because the High School Musical franchise does not take place in a rational universe."

"Right. Hold on a sec, I need to do my job." She does a little banter, echoed between his phone and the computer speakers, and he can't help feeling a little awesome, that she keeps him on the line. She likes talking to him. "Okay, so, Sharpay."

"She and her brother love theater, they work hard, they've been the leads in everything forever--"

"Creepy."

"They're actors, okay? They're professionals." He pauses. "Kind of creepy, incestuous professionals. But they're not, you know--" He waves his hand, even though she can't see him. "Troy and Gabriella are star-crossed lovers or whatever, so instead of Ryan and Sharpay being the heroic team whose life passion is taken away from them by some random upstarts, they're the villains who need to be vanquished." He pauses. "Not that I have strong feelings about this."

"Of course not." She clucks her tongue. "So, why are the bad guys, exactly? They have these parts the actual protagonists want?"

"Also Sharpay wants to date Troy, so there's a romantic rivalry. But he's not interested, so it's not much of a rivalry. And seriously, Troy and Gabriella don't even want the parts that much. The whole moral of the first movie is pretty much 'it's okay to like more than one thing,' so the main characters spend the whole time being conflicted about having more than one after-school commitment, and then they finally decide they want to be in the musical and steal the leading roles Ryan and Sharpay have worked so hard for. But they're meant to be, so Ryan and Sharpay are the enemy by default. There's no justice in the High School Musical world."

"Uh huh. So you basically see the entire--is this the first movie?"

"Yeah."

"The entire first movie as a tragedy about two kind of incestuous siblings who have their dreams stolen by a couple random assholes?"

"Basically. This is why my sister wanted to murder me when we watched these, by the way."

"You're a great brother." There's another pause, and he hears a tapping sound, like maybe she's got a pen and she's drumming it against something. He can picture her so clearly, except for what she actually looks like. He imagines her as tall and bold, with a dangerous glint in her eye. Overwhelming in the best way. "So, why is Sharpay your favorite? Why not Ryan?"

He considers this. "More into hot blonde girls than hot blonde guys. I'm pretty straight."

Clarke makes a weird, kind of choked noise. "Right. One sec." She does another bit of on-air banter, and then says, "So, just checking--you're saying your type is rich, blonde girls who are hard-working and passionate and kind of morally ambiguous?"

"Uh, I've never really thought about it like that, but sure. I don't think I've ever met one in person, but I'd probably be into that."

"Yeah," she says, vaguely. "Talk to you next week."

*

Miller gets a job at the new Starbucks that opens up by their dorm, so Bellamy transfers from the one across town, both to take advantage of a shorter commute and so that he and Miller can kick each other and talk shit when they don't have customers. It's in all ways an improvement over his previous Starbucks.

It's Tuesday and he's been working a fucking death shift--six a.m. to six p.m., because Trish begged him to switch, he needs the money, and he is a sucker--for almost ten hours when Miller hands him a venti black tea lemonade, and he calls it out before he reads the name. "Sharpay?" he says, more to himself than the actual crowd of waiting students.

A cute blonde materializes and says, "Hey, Bellamy."

Her voice doesn't exactly match her face, or, rather, she doesn't look like he imagined. She's around the same height as Octavia, with bright blue eyes and a freckle or a mole or something above her lip. She's wearing a tank top and jeans, with a messenger bag slung over her shoulder, and she's smiling at him, looking a little anxious.

She's not like he pictured, but it's love at first sight anyway. Of course it is.

"Oh, shit," he says, laughing and running his hand through his hair, nervous. He was really not ready for this. He has coffee stains on his apron and he probably kind of smells, and she is gorgeous and perfect and smiling at him, "Um, hi, Clarke."

"Hi," she says again. He's glad he's not the only one who's kind of stuck here. "I didn't know you worked here, just so you know. Zero Facebook stalking was involved."

"Must be my lucky day," he says, and almost kicks himself, but she blushes, so--awesome.

"Blake, order up," says Miller, pointed, and he pulls a face. Of course, it would be _busy_ when Clarke came in.

"Sorry."

She doesn't leave, though, just hangs around, looking a little nervous, and when he gets the drink to its owner, she says, "I've got like ten billion art history slides to memorize. So I'll be here for a while. Come say hi if you have a break later or whatever."

"Will do," he says. He won't, but if she stays until six, he is definitely going to do something about it. "Good to finally see you, Clarke."

The crowd thins out around half an hour later, but not enough that he can go over and talk to her. Instead, he just kind of stares, which--creepy, he knows, but she's _right there_ , and he can see all the habits he sort of knew she had, and the ones he didn't. She taps her pen on jaw when she's thinking, and chews it sometimes. Her hair falls into her eyes a lot, and she finally gets fed up and pulls it back in a messy bun, but it keeps escaping from that too, loose tendrils falling onto her neck.

He's embarrassed, the first time she catches him looking, but she just waves, and he realizes she's been looking at him too, which is even better.

"Dude," Miller says mildly, at five. "You are going to scare that girl away."

"That's Clarke," he says.

"The girl from the radio?"

"Yeah."

Miller stands next to him and looks at her for a minute; she's scowling at her flashcards and attempting to suck the last remnants of tea out of her drink, even though it's nothing but ice. "Huh. Does she know who you are?"

"Yeah."

"And you haven't vaulted over the counter to have sex with her on the table yet?"

"Not yet."

"Good restraint."

Bellamy snorts. "Thanks."

"When are you off?"

"Six."

He looks around. "You think she's still going to be here?"

"I hope so."

"If it keeps being this slow, I bet I can talk Maya into agreeing to let you go early. You've been here forever, and I can't remember the last time you got laid."

"Your concern for my sex-life is touching," Bellamy says dryly. He looks back at Clarke, biting back a smile. "I would love to leave early, yeah."

*

"So, what's your last name?" Clarke asks. He's pretty broke, so he just took her to his favorite burger place. They ordered a bunch of food to go and took it to the park, and now he's sitting on the grass with Clarke Griffin, watching her try not to get ketchup on herself. It is, objectively speaking, perfect.

"Blake."

"Bellamy Blake?" she asks, sounding amused. "Nice. Alliterative."

"Thanks. I'll tell my mom you approve." He cocks his head at her. "So, do you agree to go on dates with all the weird guys who call your show, or am I special?"

"You're the only weird guy who calls my show. All the others are very normal. Don't care about Disney Channel movies at all."

He laughs and throws the foil from his burger at her, and she grins. "I am currently single, and you are the only weirdo or non-weirdo whose dinner invitations I've accepted," she says. "I don't know why you're prying, really. This is a date. I'm hoping there's going to be another date."

"Yeah?"

She shrugs, but her cheeks are a little pink. "You were funny," she says. "I always looked forward to your calls. And you're also, like, devastatingly hot and built, so that's a nice bonus."

He grins. "Devastatingly hot, huh?"

"Like, Zac Efron hot," she says, grinning, and he leans over and kisses her, just because he cannot actually help himself.

Her hand tangles in his hair, holding him there, and she kisses back, tasting like ketchup and soda, which is kind of gross, but more awesome, because they're still kissing.

"Did you know Troy and Gabriella don't have their first kiss until the end of the second movie?" he asks her, and she breaks out laughing, burying her face against his neck. "Like, they explicitly say it's the first kiss of their entire relationship."

"And when does their relationship start?"

"They meet on New Year's and then it's probably, like, a month before they get together? Tops? And then the second movie is the summer after the first movie. So it's at least six months in."

"You know, nothing else convinced me this was a bizarre alternate universe, but that might do it."

"Right? Octavia thinks it's because they're both really gay. Or Troy is. Gabriella is asexual."

"Your sister seems to think a lot of people in the High School Musical universe are gay."

"We all have our explanations to make those movies have some kind of coherence."

"That is not true. I'm pretty sure plenty of people have never sat around wondering why Troy and Gabriella didn't kiss for six months."

"Well, their loss," he says, and kisses her again.

"Maybe there's no kissing in the High School Musical universe," she says, when he pulls back. "Like, Troy and Gabriella are the first people to even _think_ of it. Maybe they invented kissing."

He laughs. "Sorry, their first ever conversation is about kissing. New Year's tradition, etc."

"Damn, I really thought I was onto something."

*

"So, on a scale from one to ten, how bad is it if I don't like this movie?" Clarke asks. They've been dating for two months, and they've decided it's time to take their relationship to the next level. Miller has vacated the room for the day, both because he does not want to watch the entire High School Musical trilogy and because he doesn't want to cockblock Bellamy. 

Bellamy would not have expected his idea of a perfect date to include the entire High School Musical trilogy, but Clarke is so great it was impossible to prepare himself for her adequately.

"First one, I don't care," he says. "Second one, if you don't appreciate the genius of the "Bet On It" sequence, I might break up with you."

"I've already seen that, it's amazing. Have you seen the one with the Pokemon theme?"

"Yes, and you're actually the perfect woman. I haven't seen the third one either, so--"

"Wait, what? It's like I don't even know you. How have you not seen the third one?"

"It's not on Netflix! I would have had to put effort into seeing it. Like, downloading it or buying it or something, and that was going too far. Watching High School Musical 3 without Octavia of my own volition crossed a line." He pauses. "I did watch the Sharpay spin-off movie, if that helps. Drinking. Alone."

"Oh my god," says Clarke, laughing. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. I was home for break and our Netflix had _Because you watched High School Musical_ recommendations and it was _right there_."

Clarke kisses him. "Okay, that makes up for not having seen High School Musical 3. That's amazing."

"I try."

"So we get to experience that one for the first time together."

"Precious memories," he agrees, but he kind of means it. He is genuinely excited to watch these movies with her. Which might be weird, but he is dating a girl he met because he called into her non-request radio show and asked her to play a song from High School Musical 2, so it's not like weird is a new thing for them.

Clarke settles down on to the futon next to him, tucked into his side, and Bellamy puts his arm around her. "Okay, so, I get to talk through these entire movies, point out every plot hole, and make fun of Zac Efron's hair, right?"

"I'll be disappointed if you don't, yeah."

"And our drinking game is--"

"Every time they say Wildcats," says Bellamy. "Or Wildcat. Also, uh--there was another."

Clarke brings out her notebook, where she has written down the rules they came up with when he called in on her last shift. His girlfriend has a notebook with plans for a High School Musical drinking game. His life is fucking amazing. "Every time someone repeats something that someone else has just explained in detail and/or sung about. And every time one of us starts yelling at the screen, the other drinks."

"Awesome. Ready?"

She holds up her drink. She bought them actual High School Musical cups on Amazon, in preparation for this event. "So ready."

*

"Okay, but--what is the musical they're doing even _about_?" Clarke asks, gesturing at the screen with her cup. "They're supposed to be singing songs from the musical itself, right? So it's got to be--" She worries her lip, like this is really bugging her, and she is going to figure it out. "They're two prostitutes working on a cruise ship."

Bellamy chokes on his drink. He is counting this as yelling at the screen. "What?"

"Bop to the Top is fucking _clearly_ about prostitutes working on a cruise ship, okay?"

He considers. "Yeah, okay, it is."

"So, like, that's the big opening number. Setting the scene. They're probably, I dunno, best friends with sexual tension that they haven't acted on because it's awkward and they're both prostitutes and, you know. Reasons."

"Reasons. You know it's called Twinkle Towne, right? It probably takes place in a town."

"That's the name of the ship, Bellamy, come on."

"Oh, right, of course."

She elbows him. "Anyway, so, yeah. What are their names again?"

"Arnold and Minnie."

"Why do you know that?"

"Shut up. I want to hear your Twinkle Towne plot."

"So, yeah, Arnold and Minnie have been friends for a long time, and they're working together as prostitutes on the cruise ship. And then one of them--probably Minnie, it's usually the girl--gets a new client who wants to take her away from this terrible life, Pretty-Woman style."

"Assume I've never seen Pretty Woman."

"You're a High School Musical enthusiast, I make no assumptions about your taste in movies."

"Okay, that's fair. So some guy wants to take Minnie away from all this."

"Yeah, and she tells Arnold, because this is her big break, right? She gets to be a kept woman. But Arnold's crushed, because she'll be leaving him behind, and he realizes he loves her."

"Tragic. It's like they don't even know about threesomes."

"It's High School Musical. I'm not convinced any of these people even know how babies are made. Except the girl who plays piano. She clearly knows what's up."

"Which is why she wrote a musical about prostitutes."

"Exactly. And she slipped it past the drama teacher because she's the only one in the entire school who even knows what prostitutes are."

Bellamy nuzzles her neck. "Is it bad that I find this hot?"

"Kind of. Also, don't distract me, I'm on a roll. So, okay, he's heartbroken, and starts taking on more and more dangerous johns because he doesn't care about his life anymore. That's when they sing Breaking Free; for her, it's this hopeful, beautiful song about a new life and new hope, but for him, it's the start of the worst time of his life."

"This is getting pretty dark."

"Like I said, piano girl knows what's up."

"Her name is Kelsi."

"I love you," she says, absent, like it's not the first time she's said it and it's not kind of a big deal. "Kelsi knows what's up. She lives for the drama. That's why she's so upset when Sharpay and Ryan remix her stuff, it's like they don't even understand these are angsty prostitute ballads."

"To be fair, neither did I."

"You're so lucky I'm here. So, Arnold gets hurt, really badly hurt, by one of his clients right after they dock, and some other person comes and tells Minnie when she's about to leave with the guy who's taking her away from this life, and she realizes she loves Arnold too, and she gets back and they sing What I've Been Looking For and get married."

"Are they still prostitutes working on the cruise ship?"

"Yeah, but now they have each other."

"That's beautiful, Clarke."

She beams at him. "Right? It's really the most logical explanation."

"Definitely." He kisses her neck. "You know you told me you love me in the middle of that, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," he says. "Just checking."

She pecks him on the cheek. "So, High School Musical 2? I can't wait to see Troy and Gabriella kiss. Their non-sexual tension is overwhelming."

Bellamy laughs and wraps his arm around her. "I love you too."

"You better love me. We still have two more of these to go."

*

"So, do you think they told their parents where they were going to college first, or are they finding out about this for the first time at this play?" 

"I bet they haven't even thought about financial aid," Bellamy grumbles.

"Troy still has his basketball/golf/singing scholarship. And Ryan got a scholarship too, even though he doesn't need one." She frowns. "Also, are we really supposed to buy that Ryan and Kelsi are a thing? Because I'm not convinced everyone is gay, but I'm really convinced Ryan is gay."

"Oh, hey, that's a cool trivia fact. Apparently Ryan actually was gay in the stage show. And the actor who plays him was disappointed with the love interest thing, so the director told him he could do whatever he wanted and he'd put it in the blooper reel, so we have him jumping some guy in the end credits to look forward to."

Clarke pokes him. "I thought you hadn't seen this one. How do you know that?"

"I found it when I was googling other trivia for you."

"Wait, you googled your trivia? Seriously? I feel like our whole relationship is a lie."

"No! I just fact-checked. I didn't want to give you false information. I knew all that stuff."

"You fact-checked?"

"I wanted to impress you."

"You have got to be the only guy in the history of the world who has ever picked someone up successfully with High School Musical trivia."

"Yeah, but that means you're the only girl in the history of the world who got picked up," he points out. "So joke's on you."

"Joke's on me. Do you have the Sharpay spin-off movie? I'm a completionist."

"I think it's still on Netflix. That one has a dog love story in it, fair warning."

"Bring it on," she says, and he loves her, he really does.


	12. Oh No (I Had a Thought and a Feeling) - Bellamy POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4519338)!

He should have told her not to visit.

The thing is, there is no way Clarke is coming to his college. It’s not prestigious enough. Clarke is going to go to an Ivy, a school everyone has heard of. When Clarke says the name of her college, whoever she’s talking to will be impressed and a little intimidated.

And that’s fine–good, even. Clarke’s smart and dedicated, and, more importantly for this particular life choice, rich. It sucks how much that matters, for the whole college thing, but it does and there’s no getting away from it. There’s no point in trying. She’s his best friend, and he can be happy for her.

But it means that Clarke’s not going to come here. They both know it, and there’s no point in her visiting. But of course, he still couldn’t say no when she asked, even though it was the worst idea of all time. Because as soon as he sees her at the airport, he wants it to be forever. He wants her to stay here, just move into his room (his bed), be a part of his life again.

He misses her like he actually lost a part of his body, sometimes. They talk, they Skype, but it’s not the same, and having her warm and bright and real when he’s home for breaks is hard enough.

Seeing her at his school is worse. He can picture it so easily, having her here next year.

“Okay, so this is the main quad,” he says. He’s giving her a tour mostly as a defense mechanism. Otherwise they’ll be sitting alone in his room, and if he kisses her again he’s not sure he’ll be capable of letting her go. “It’s, you know, a quad.”

Clarke snorts. “You’re fucking terrible at this.”

“Look at all the buildings, Clarke!”

“Tons of buildings.”

“Tons. That one is the library.”

“Fascinating.”

“I will start telling you boring history stuff. Don’t think I won’t.”

She laughs. It’s so fucking good to see her. “Stop being nervous, dumbass.”

“I’m not nervous,” he lies.

“It’s a nice school,” she says, soft. “I’m not–it’s not like I’m judging you or anything.”

“God, I know,” he says, and that’s true. He’s not at all nervous that she’s looking around campus and thinking how shitty it is.

It was just easy to be in love with her in high school. He saw her all the time, at least six days a week, if not seven. It wasn’t a replacement for what he really wanted, but it was nice. And he could always remind himself that he was leaving soon, they’d be going off to different colleges, and he’d get over it.

Which was stupidly optimistic of him.

“I just don’t know where to take you, honestly,” he says. “I should have come up with an itinerary.”

“Nerd,” she says, fond. “I’m amazed you didn’t.”

“Shut up. I’m taking you to the fucking graveyard so I can lecture you about the different styles of tombstones and their historical significance.”

“Awesome,” she says, with no hint of sarcasm. “Just let me get my sketchbook so I can do rubbings if there are cool ones.” He gapes at her and she bumps her shoulder against his. “There is a reason we’re best friends, you know.”

“Lack of other options,” he says, and slings his arm around her. He used to do it before. It’s not weird.

Given the way she leans into him, she doesn’t think it’s weird either.

He really should have just told her not to come.

“That must be it,” she says. “Come on, I’m excited. You’ve never put me to sleep in a graveyard before.”

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he says, and she just grins.

They hang out in the graveyard until they get hungry, and meet Miller and the rest of his friends for dinner at the dining hall. It’s so easy, seeing them together. She fits in instantly, a natural part of the group, and he can imagine exactly how it would be, if she was here.

They’re watching Clarke beat Miller’s boyfriend at Wii Sports when Miller says, “So, that’s why you don’t date.”

“I date,” Bellamy says, taking a drag from his beer. He’s not sure why he’s pretending Miller doesn’t have his number; he knows it’s more than a little pathetic to still be in love with his high-school best friend, but all his denials aren’t going to make it less obvious.

“You don’t date, you fuck around.”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I know you’re not into girls, but trust me, she’s worth being hung up on.”

“Is she coming here?”

“No. No way. She’s probably going to Princeton. That’s where her mom went. It’s a family tradition.”

Miller claps his shoulder. “Sucks.”

Bellamy sighs. “It’s just four years,” he says, knowing that it’s stupid, holding out the hope that in four years, they’ll somehow be in the same place, that she’ll want him. Even that he’ll still want her. Liking someone always feels like it’s forever, but he’s gotten over crushes before. Someday, he might wake up and realize he doesn’t love Clarke anymore. He’s equal parts hoping for it and terrified of it; it seems like such a waste, to have been in love with her all this time, for it to just go away. “I’m gonna get next round,” he tells Miller, and goes to slot in next to Clarke, too close. She just leans into his side, though, natural, like they haven’t been apart for months and months.

It’s not even that much of a surprise when she kisses him in his room; it’s not like it’s the first time, and they’ve been touching each other almost non-stop, like neither of them can get over being together again.

Even if she was sober, it would be a bad idea. But at least when she’s drunk, he has a really good reason not to respond, to pull away and say, “You’re pretty drunk, huh?”

“Pretty.” She sounds tired, and he kisses her forehead, impulsive. She might have done it when she was sober, but he doesn’t really want to know. He doesn’t have anything against long-distance relationships, but he misses her enough when they aren’t dating. He doesn’t want to think about what it would be like, knowing he could also be getting laid.

He packs her into his roommate’s bed, and they don’t mention it in the morning, or after she leaves. He tries to forget how natural she looked on campus, because of course she gets into Princeton, and of course she goes.

She’s back three years later, for his graduation, which is when his self-control runs out.

He wasn’t expecting anyone to come to graduation for him–his mother couldn’t take the time off work, let alone pay for a plane ticket, and he needed his own money for moving to DC, so he couldn’t even try to pay for Octavia himself. Clarke calls him the week before and says, “Good news, frequent flier miles are awesome.”

“Cool?” he offers. He assumes she’s going on vacation, since she’s done with school already. She has an internship in New York this summer, but it doesn’t start for another few weeks.

“So, yeah, we’re coming down the morning of graduation and just staying for a day, because our schedules are–”

“Wait, what?”

She laughs. “Me and Octavia. We’ll be there next week.”

He opens and shuts his mouth a few times, and is grateful she didn’t Skype him. He’s glad no one can see his face. “Really?”

“Really. You need someone to cheer for you, right?”

“I don’t, but–thanks. I can’t wait to see you guys.”

“Yeah,” she says, soft, and he can’t say he exactly plans to jump her, but some part of him knows. It feels inevitable.

“Have you told her?” Octavia asks at dinner, when Clarke goes to the bathroom.

“Told who what?” he asks. He might have been staring after Clarke, because he is sad.

“Clarke. That you’re totally in love with her.”

“Uh, no,” he says. He shrugs. “She probably knows.”

“She definitely doesn’t.”

He rolls his eyes. “Then why did you ask?” He loves his sister and missed her like crazy, but he’s basically incapable of going more than ten minutes without giving her shit. She’d worry if he didn’t.

“You should tell her,” Octavia says, surprisingly somber.

“I’m going to.” It’s true; it’s always been true. As soon as they’re both living in the place, he’s going to tell her he loves her. He’s known that for years.

Kissing her is mostly an accident, though. They’ve been getting closer and closer to each other on the couch since Octavia fell asleep, and by the time she’s wrapped up in his arms, one of her hands over his, he knows there’s no way this night is ending without him kissing her, at a minimum.

“I’m really glad you came,” he tells her, once the movie finishes. It feels inadequate.

“You’re glad I brought Octavia,” she says, a dismissal, and it’s so–that’s it, really. He loves his sister, is really glad to see his sister, but Clarke’s the one who made it happen.

So he kisses her.

She kisses back without hesitation, sliding closer, kissing back like she wants it just as much as he does, like some part of him always thought she would. He was so sure all they’d need to be was together, and everything else would sort itself out. It’s nice to know he was right, but–

“Fuck, Clarke,” he says, unable to pull himself fully away from her. “I hate not seeing you.”

She pulls him back up for another kiss, like she can’t stop either. “Me too. Just one more year, though.”

He feels a goofy smile grow on his face. Part of why he got the job in DC was that he knew that was where she wanted to end up, but they’ve never talked about it. They never agreed they’d be in the same place as a matter of course, but they’ve always been on the same page, their whole lives.

“Going to track me down, huh?” he asks.

There’s no hesitation at all. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

Clarke’s definitely going to kiss him again when Octavia lets out a soft snore, and it’s enough to get them apart. He still can’t really focus on anything but her, but at least it’s mutual.

“You, um,” she says, worrying her lip in a completely distracting way. “You have a bedroom.”

“Bad idea.” She looks so horrified he almost laughs, but he leans in and kisses her again instead. “It sucks enough sending you home tomorrow already,” he says, hoping it’s sufficient explanation.

“That does suck,” she says, and settles back in against him, as close as she can get, for another movie.

One more year. He can definitely wait just one more year. Clarke’s worth it.


	13. so put your hands down my pants and I bet you'll feel nuts - Bellamy POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4413410)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually try to reuse less of the original dialogue in these, but fuck it, I really liked the original dialogue.

Bellamy really hasn't missed college parties.

Obviously there's a certain basic, shallow appeal to hot girls flirting with him, but now that they're all his sister's age, it's a little weird, and he's driving, so he's a lot less drunk than they are. Miller is having a good time, and his new boyfriend is cute, but aside from that, Bellamy feels like the whole evening is basically a loss. He didn't even get to see Octavia for more than ten seconds before she ran off to hang out with the boyfriend she's afraid to introduce him to.

So, when some girl starts petting him, he's about ready to tell her to fuck off, but then she sighs, plops down next to him, and says, "Sucks about balls."

She's cute, wavy blonde hair and blue eyes that are, admittedly, pretty glassy right now, but she's got a mole on her upper lip that and great breasts, so it could be worse.

"Excuse me?" he asks.

"You seem like a nice guy, uh--"

"Bellamy," he supplies. "Are you basing that on anything?"

"Hair. Shirt."

"Those are the big indicators, yeah," he says, amused in spite of himself.

"But then there's, you know. Balls. I'm unsure about balls."

"What about them?" he asks. She can't possibly mean _balls_ , right? She's drunk and doesn't know what she's saying.

"I mean," she says, and then there's a long pause, during which she looks increasingly consternated. She's _really_ cute, honestly. Not that he's generally into drunk girls, and he's obviously not going to do anything about it, but she is, on the whole, adorable.

"You mean?" he prompts.

"Okay, like, dicks? I'm down. Dicks seem cool. Not, you know, assholes, actual dicks."

"I'm genuinely upset I followed that," he says. He reaches into his bag and pulls out the bottle of water he always brings to parties because, per Octavia, he is a fucking mother hen. But clearly his preparation has paid off, because if any drunk girl has ever needed water, it is this drunk girl. "Drink this."

She obeys, after some confused protestations, and he thinks she might just pass out on him, but apparently her focus has returned, because she comes back to, "Anyway, dicks."

"Non-asshole dicks," he supplies, because he is, in all honesty, kind of an asshole dick.

The drunk girl doesn't seem to notice or care. "Non-asshole dicks. Regular dicks. Those are cool. You know, hard, cylindrical, I've had that basic experience with strap-ons. But balls, right?"

"Non-athletic balls, I assume."

That one gets her, and she gives him a look that might be kind of penetrating, if she wasn't so wasted. "You're kind of an asshole dick, aren't you."

He finally loses it at that, because of course it's exactly what he was thinking, and she's just-- "God, I hope you're this fun when you're sober," he says. He'll feel kind of bad asking for her number, but he's definitely going to. Because this is actually awesome. "You're seriously afraid of balls?"

"Not afraid. Just--I dunno. They're weird, right?"

"I've literally had them my whole life. I'm pretty used to them. They're just sort of hanging out."

"I think that's what bothers me," she says, like this is the first time she's ever put serious thought into the entire issue. Maybe it is. Maybe when she's sober, she doesn't worry about balls at all. "The whole--hanging aspect." She makes a hand gesture that would probably be very dirty, if he could figure out what it was supposed to mean.

"God, why am I not recording this? This is honestly the best thing that has ever happened to me."

"I'm just saying, I would sleep with you--"

"If you were sober, interested, and not afraid of balls," he says. He really doesn't want her to think sleeping with him is an option that's on the table right now. Not that he wouldn't sleep with her, given the right circumstances. Mostly her being sober, interested, and not afraid of balls.

He really hopes she's going to be all three soon.

"WARY OF BALLS," she yells. Everyone in the immediate area turns to stare at them, and he gives kind of a pathetic wave while she glares at him. "Oh my god," she hisses. "I can't believe you made me say that."

"In what universe is this conversation my fault?" he asks, amused in spite of everything. He doesn't want her to be pissed at him, but he's pretty sure she won't remember half of this, and she just yelled _wary of balls_ in the middle of a party. It's the best. Everything about this is basically the best. "You stumbled up to me, started petting my hair, and then told me you weren't sure about balls. Which I honestly assumed was not the word you were looking for when I asked why you were unsure, but this has been a really enlightening conversation."

She sort of gapes at him for a long minute, and finally settles on, "Is your name actually Blamey?"

"No."

"You are really hot."

"Thanks. You are really drunk."

In fact, she's drunk enough he thinks she probably needs to be with people she actually _knows_. Not that he's not really enjoying having her leaning against him and telling him how weird his balls are, but she needs someone who can actually take care of her, get her home and in bed. And _he_ needs to get going too, but there's no way he can leave her alone like this. Someone might take advantage, and then he'd have to murder them.

And then he finds out she's Octavia's friend Clarke, which is just--fucking _perfect_. He's heard a lot about the girl who took his sister under her wing when she was a confused freshman last year, and he thought she sounded pretty cool. He'd even been kind of curious to meet her tonight, and now it turns out she is this gorgeous, weird girl who is apparently into him (at least when she's drunk) but not sold on testicles.

What the fuck, seriously.

He realizes, when she's half passed out in his car, that it maybe wasn't the best idea ever to just take her back to his place, given it's far enough off campus she's kind of stranded, but it's not like he's an actual _stranger_. She knows his sister, and even knows him, as Octavia's hot brother (which he is trying very hard not to dwell on, because--there are really good odds this does not turn into a date, and he needs to accept that), and he didn't have anyone else to give her to. 

And, honestly, he'd just worry about her all fucking night, if he didn't take her. He's maybe being a little selfish.

She's mostly asleep by the time they get back to his place, but she's not too heavy, so he manages to carry her upstairs and into his room. She makes some soft, sleepy noises and burrows against him, and he really, really hopes she actually thinks he's hot, and it's not just a drunk thing. If it's just a drunk thing, he's going to cry.

Octavia calls about twenty minutes after he's got her settled in his room.

"You have Clarke?" she yells. She's either still at the party, or the loud music deafened her and she hasn't noticed yet.

"She came up and started petting me!" he protests. "I didn't know it was her, but when I found out I just took her. She was way too drunk to leave at the party."

Octavia's end of the phone gets a lot less noisy, so he assumes she went outside.

"She did what?"

"She was petting me and telling me she wanted to sleep with me except balls weird her out," he says. "It was hilarious, but there was no way I was leaving her unsupervised. And you weren't picking up your phone, so--she's passed out in my room."

There's some more noise on Octavia's end, the sound of another girl saying something, angry, and Octavia's annoyed, "It's _fine_." Then, to Bellamy, "Raven thinks you're not trustworthy."

"Uh, I can talk to her, if it'll make her feel better," he says. "I'd offer to just bring Clarke back, but honestly I already carried her up here and I don't really want to carry her back down and then drive all the way back to campus and carry her to her room."

"You _carried_ her?" Octavia asks, sounding positively gleeful.

"She was passed out!" he says, and then winces, hoping he didn't wake her up. Fuck. "Look, do you want me to talk to your friend or not?"

"I've already told her a billion ways you aren't a serial killer. But, one sec." There's some fumbling, and then she says, "Okay, for the record, where is Clarke now?"

"I gave her my bed?" he says, confused.

"And what else?"

"Uh, not my dick?"

"God, Bell, no. What did you leave for her?"

"Protein bar, gatorade, water, aspirin. Everything unopened. She checked the water I gave her tonight, even though she was wasted, so--that's good. She's on top of that."

Octavia huffs a laugh. "See, Raven? She's in good hands."

"If she says you did anything even remotely sketchy I'm going to rip off your balls," says an unfamiliar voice, presumably Raven.

"That's cool," says Bellamy, closing his eyes and leaning back on the couch. He's already had a surreal evening; it's going to be hard to faze him at this point. "Apparently they're a turn-off for some people."


	14. Dulce Et Decorum Est (To Go Home and Get Some Rest) - Bellamy POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3704313)!

When Octavia greets him with a sunny, "Good morning, sleepyhead, hope you're looking forward to an exciting day," at two in the afternoon, Bellamy just kind of assumes she's being a brat. He flips her off, drinks the remainder of a bottle of orange juice directly from the carton, and goes back up to his room without giving his sister another thought. He doesn't realize it's all part of a fucking _plot_.

Bellamy's summer has been so far pretty unexciting. He's started with bartending and life guarding, and he's sort of trying to figure out if there's a good way to hang out with Clarke, aside from seeing her at the pool, but he hasn't really come up with a plan yet. They're not really hanging out friends--they've always mostly interacted at school or school-related things, country club aside--but he'd like to see more of her before she takes off for China. But he's never been good at calling people up and asking if they want to hang out, so instead of trying to interact with the girl he likes, he's texting Miller at work and lying around in his boxers, playing Ace Attorney. His life is fucking exciting, for sure.

Octavia knocks a few hours later and he ignores it, hoping she'll go away. Of course she doesn't, and she kicks it instead. 

He makes some loud, dramatic, and very profane protestations, because he loves winding his sister up, and saves his game before going over to the door. He could put on pants, but his room doesn't have AC and it's Octavia's own fault for bugging him. She deserves to have to see his boxers.

He really, really regrets it when he opens the door and it's not Octavia, but _Clarke_ , looking fucking amazing. She's never really been very into dresses, does more of a tomboy look most of the time, and he is completely unprepared for the sight of her in a blue flowered sundress, with her hair done up in a little crown of braids.

They sort of gape at each other for a minute, and he's gratified when her eyes drop and she checks his chest out. She's seen him this undressed plenty of times before, but boxers in his room is a world away from swimsuit at the pool.

Maybe she came to confess her love. That's a teen movie scene, right? The girl gets all dressed up for an anguished declaration.

Maybe he's blushing so hard it's affecting his brain.

"Clarke?" he manages. His voice comes out even and fairly strong, if not exactly smooth or cool. It's enough of a victory for him, given the circumstances. Octavia must have known. He's going to murder her.

"Raven and Wick told me to drag you to their party. By force, if I have to," she says, overly bright. "So, here I am."

He had completely forgotten about that, honestly. He's been busy, and he figured Clarke would just tell him when he needed to go. But over the phone, not in person. At his house. In a sundress. "That's today?"

She rolls her eyes. "No, I just decided to ambush you at home for fun. It's in an hour. I figured you might need time to primp," she adds, and her eyes dart down to his chest again. She might not even realize it. He can't help feeling a little smug.

"I'm naturally beautiful. Did Octavia at any point in your plotting mention that I have a job bartending now? And I was working until three last night?"

"It's four in the afternoon."

"I'm adjusting to a new schedule. It's like jet lag." He rubs the back of his neck, feeling a little bad. He's a shitty host. "I guess I probably need a shower. You can, uh--hang out in here, I guess? I've got books and an old DS and a computer. I don't know. There's stuff."

"I can wait downstairs, you know," she says, like she might think being a shitty host is kind of charming. "I came into your house with no warning to drag you out, you don't have to be polite. It's creeping me out."

Just like that, he feels better. This is _Clarke_. She's here to pick him up. Nothing about this has to be weird. Obviously he wants to push her down on his bed and make out, but he's been wanting to make out with her anytime they're alone for almost three years. That's nothing new. It just feels _possible_ right now, because she's in his room, blushing and nervous. 

It keeps feeling possible in the shower, and he can't decide if it's more terrifying or exhilarating. He's thought about Clarke coming over a lot, because there's just something about her in his space that does it for him. She's the first girl to be in his room since he moved here, and he likes the way she looks there.

Fuck, he is absolutely not going to jerk off in the shower while Clarke is here. He's not. That's a level of creepy he cannot deal with.

He turns the water cold to finish rinsing off and spends a kind of embarrassing amount of time in front of the mirror, getting his hair to look shower-fresh but still hot. It's a very delicate balance. He doesn't bother putting on a shirt. If she calls him out on it, he's going to say he forgot to grab one. He just really likes knowing she's checking him out. He's vain; he owns it.

She's on his bed when he gets back, reading, and they lock eyes when the door opens. She's got the Bulfinch, and he realizes this is it.

This is the moment he says something.

He slumps back against the door, slamming it shut. She jumps a little, startled, and her dress slides down her thigh a little farther. Her legs look fucking _perfect_ , and he wants to run his hands all over her. 

"Is it sad if I've had this fantasy?" he asks, deliberate. He's proud when his voice comes out without a squeak.

She wets her lips, and it's all he can do to wait, to not just cross the room and kiss her right the fuck now. "Which fantasy?" she asks, voice unreadable.

He gives her a rueful smile. "You, in my bed, reading a mythology book."

Clarke breaks out laughing, bright and clear and not at all mean, and relief floods him. They're going to be fine. Not that he ever really thought she'd stop being his friend, but she looks flushed and amused, _happy_ , and it feels like a yes already, without her even saying anything. "Yes, actually," she says, grinning. "That's really sad. And weirdly specific. Does it have to be a mythology book? If I'd picked up Harry Potter, would this not be hot for you?"

He grins. "Harry Potter has a lot of mythological references. I'd take it." He ditches his towel on his desk chair and crosses the room, deliberate. Clarke watches him, and when he takes the book and leans in, it's her who surges up to kiss him first.

He grins against her lips and straddles her, pressing all up against her, _finally_. He kisses her to keep from talking, because words are threatening to spill out, stupid confessions that are way too much, way too soon. He distracts himself with her lips and her fucking _legs_ , which are seriously unfair.

Except he gets to touch them now. So they're awesome.

The thought is kind of overwhelming, and he has to pull back, burying his face against the soft skin of her neck. She's still smiling, and he can't look at her. "Jesus," he murmurs.

"Yeah?"

"What, it wasn't good for you?" he teases, pressing his lips against her jaw. He might, at some point in the future, be able to stop touching her. In like a year.

"You have a lot more experience than I do," she says, sounding a little defensive, which he's going to have to talk her out of, later. He could care less how much experience Clarke has, as long as she wants to get more of it with him. "You're probably harder to impress." 

He's afraid of embarrassing himself with a response to that, so he kisses her again, can't get enough of kissing her. It's starting to have a pretty clear effect on him, too, and he tries to press her into the mattress without freaking her out with his hard-on against her leg.

"Takes fifteen minutes to get to Wick's from here," she says, breathless. He'd all but forgotten about the party and can't bring himself to care about it; he gropes her instead, and is gratified by her moan. "So that gives us--"

"Are they going to notice if we're late?" 

She swats his shoulder. "Yes. And they're going to notice if I have a hickey, and they're definitely going to make fun of us."

He still puts up token protests, but it's hard to really object to going to a party with Clarke, especially going _with_ her. They are going to get made fun of pretty much non-stop--everyone has been expecting them to hook up for _years_ \--but that just means he's going to get to talk about how he's dating Clarke. A lot. Which is kind of awesome.

It doesn't even occur to him that she might not realize how he feels about her, given it's _so fucking obvious_ , until she says, "You're dating me now," in the car.

He snorts. "Thanks for letting me know."

"I'm just saying, don't think I'm gonna let you sleep with me once and never call," she says, and there's the slightest trace of nerves in her voice, like she's really worried he's going to try that. "I know where you live. I'm in all your classes. I'll--"

"I'm in love with you," he says. He's not even nervous. It's been on the tip of his tongue for years, every time she smiles, every time they win Certamen, every time they're working on their homework together. "I have been since--whenever it stopped being creepy. Let's say when you turned fifteen. I don't know. Actually, I do," he admits. She's not going to tease him about it. "It was when you told me I had a triangle."

She's staring at him, shocked, and he does his best not to laugh. _Everyone_ knew. "You know you helped me hook up with someone else last year, right?" she asks.

"Seemed like a dick move to stop you."

"I love you too," she says, and it's basically the best thing that's ever happened to him.

"So, that finally happened, huh?" Wick asks, at the party. He's mostly sober; his girlfriend is wasted and teasing Clarke. Clarke keeps making faces at Bellamy over Raven's shoulder, and Bellamy can't stop smiling.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says, for no good reason except to be an asshole.

"Dude, you guys were holding hands. And I have never seen you smiling this much. It's actually creepy. If you're not getting laid, I don't even want to know what you look like when you are."

"I don't want you to know what I look like getting laid either. No offense, but you're not my type."

"You're breaking my heart, Blake."

"You'll get over it."

Wick snorts and bumps his shoulder against Bellamy's. "Seriously, I'm happy for you, man."

"Thanks. I only find your investment in my sex life a little weird."

"Fuck you," says Wick easily. "It's your love life. I'm a fucking romantic."

Clarke's laughing, and Bellamy isn't doing very well paying attention to Wick, so he just pats him on the shoulder, absent, and says, "Sure you are. I'm going to go make sure your girlfriend isn't abusing my girlfriend."

"So you admit she's your girlfriend!" Wick calls after him, and Bellamy flips him off over his shoulder.

Raven gives up on them in about five minutes, on the grounds that they're _too sappy_ , which, okay, he guesses she and Wick still basically argue all the fucking time and the only way he'd know if they'd broken up would be if one of them specifically told him. If he hadn't witnessed their first kiss, he wouldn't know they were dating in the first place. She probably has a pretty low tolerance for sap.

"You're having fun, aren't you?" Clarke says, smug, leaning against his chest.

"Wick tried to talk about feelings. I shut that down fast."

She snorts. "Good job."

He kisses her hair. "By the time we get back to school, this'll be old news, right? Everyone will leave me alone?"

"You're such an anti-social dick," she says, her voice warm and fond.

"You love me anyway," he says. It's awesome, that he gets to say it.

"Yeah, but that's strictly about your body. The personality is just something I have to live with."

He laughs and kisses her hair. "Sucks to be you."

"I'll deal. Seriously, you don't actually want to leave, do you? They're going to break out the croquet set."

He groans. "What is wrong with rich people? Who plays croquet?"

"I don't know, but they're drunk and it's going to be hilarious." She elbows him. "Come on, Bell. We can make out later."

He gives her one final squeeze before he lets her tug him toward the lawn. "Yeah, yeah," he says. "I'm with you."


	15. Are We In the Clear Yet (Good) - Octavia POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3805792)!

Octavia can't actually remember the last time her brother took a day off work, so the sight of his car in the driveway when she gets home is genuinely worrying. He seemed fine yesterday, and he would have called in an emergency, if he was able to call. Honestly, she's half-expecting to find him passed out on the kitchen floor, half-dead, or something equally dramatic. This isn't like him.

Instead, he's on the couch, playing video games with Clarke Griffin.

Clarke is a familiar sight these days, at the bar or at Bellamy's store, but this is the first time she's been in their house, and Octavia can't help a sharp stab of worry.

Bellamy _likes_ Clarke. She's not sure he's noticed yet, but Octavia knows her brother better than anyone, and it's obvious to her. It's obvious in the way he perks up every time someone comes into the bar, and then perks up even more if it's actually Clarke. It's obvious in the way he teases her for always ordering the same drink, the way he complains that she's her wasting money buying coffee at his store, the way he gets annoyed when people tell him about paparazzi pictures of her hanging out with him.

It's _especially_ obvious in the way he's looking at her now, laughing and saying, "You're a fucking asshole, Griffin," the way he's not at work and hasn't even noticed Octavia is home yet.

"Are you seriously playing hooky, Bell?" she asks, shorter than she intended, and feels some vindictive pleasure when he jumps.

"It's not hooky if I'm not pretending to be sick," he says. "I think Miller would be happy if I took more time off. He nearly cried for joy. Also, you were out all night, so don't even get me started on responsibility."

"You knew where I was." Clarke has kind of sunk into the couch, looking small and embarrassed, and some of Octavia's pleasure fades. It's not Clarke's fault Bell is an idiot. "Hi, Clarke."

"Hi, Octavia. I can get out of your hair, I didn't realize how late it was--"

Bellamy snorts. "It's eleven a.m.," he says. "You don't have to go." He glances at Octavia. "Right?"

"Of course not," she says, too bright. "I just didn't know you had plans."

Clarke looks even more miserable, and Bellamy glares at her. "One sec, she was raised by an asshole," he tells Clarke, and drags Octavia into the kitchen. "Why are you being a dick?" he demands.

"I was worried!" she says. "You're not at work, I thought you died or something! And you're just--what are you doing?"

"Oh," he says, looking sheepish. "Yeah, sorry, I--her dad died ten years ago yesterday. I ran into her at the store and she was a mess, I brought her home and made sure she ate and slept and everything." He gives her a wry smile. "I forgot I should warn you I wasn't going in, but--I wanted to make sure she was okay."

Octavia slumps against the counter. "Is she okay?"

"You know how it is. I think she's doing better with company. So are you going to be normal and play video games with us, or just keep taking shit out on her she doesn't deserve?"

"Normal and video games," she says. She gives him the squint eye. "You memorized her dad's death anniversary?"

"No, Jesus. She told me. Don't be a brat, seriously. I'm trying to make her feel better here."

"I won't," says Octavia, and goes into the living room before him. Clarke is standing, shifting a little on her feet, awkward.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to--"

Octavia waves her hand. "It's fine. Bell never takes time off, so when I saw his car I panicked, and then it was--nothing. I was annoyed. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

Clarke gives Bellamy a look, and Bellamy rolls his eyes and flops back on the couch. "That just means I had tons of time off to spare," he says. His smile for Clarke is small and private, and Octavia's gut twists. Bellamy never _likes_ girls. He's always said he's too picky to settle down, when anyone asks, and it's true that he's pretty discriminating, when it comes to dates. Octavia had been hoping someone would catch his eye sooner or later.

But did he really have to develop a thing for _Clarke Griffin_?

*

It doesn't even help that much that Clarke clearly likes him too. Octavia doesn't know her well enough to be confident that it's romantic interest, but there's obviously _something_ mutual going on. 

But Clarke is still going back to California all too soon.

"She's going to break his stupid heart!" she rages to Lincoln. 

Lincoln looks a little amused, the asshole. "I think Bellamy is old enough to look after his own heart," he says gently.

"Yeah, you would _think_ ," she says, flopping down with him. "But he's been in fewer serious relationships than I have! And that's taking into account that I have to put up with him being an overprotective dickhead every time I bring someone home."

"You know how overprotective you were when he brought Clarke home, don't you?" Lincoln asks.

She pokes him the ribs. "Aren't you supposed to be on my side?"

"I am on your side. I just think you might not realize what your side should be yet."

"But she's leaving," says Octavia. "What if he wants to go with her?"

"Then you'll be happy for him," says Lincoln, kissing her hair.

"You can't make me," Octavia says, darkly, and slumps against his side.

*

She's still not ready to find them in the kitchen together, both half dressed, looking so comfortable and in love that it twists her chest up. She's _never_ seen her brother look like that, and she wants to be happy for him so hard that it tastes like blood in her mouth.

"You don't have to be mean to my girlfriend," he tells her, after Clarke's left.

"Is she your girlfriend?"

A stupid grin breaks out on his face, and Octavia's going to murder Clarke if she screws this up.

"She is, yeah."

"For how long?"

"Since last night."

"No, how long is she going to _be_ your girlfriend?"

"I don't know, how long is Lincoln going to be your boyfriend?"

"You know it's not the same thing."

"Why not? I like her, O. I'm crazy about her. She likes me too, and I'm planning to be with her for as long as I can. I know you don't approve, but this isn't your call."

"I just don't want you to get hurt!"

They glare at each other for another few seconds before Bellamy starts to laugh. "Okay, so, this is what I do every time you get a new boyfriend, isn't it?"

Octavia has to smile too. "Except I'm _right_."

"You're not. She's--"

"Leaving." She wets her lips. "Are you going to go with her?"

"We haven't talked about it. I don't--" He rubs his face. "We're barely dating. And I don't even know what I'd do in LA. That's if she wanted me to come. I'm kind of hoping she decides not to go back. She hates it there."

"Bell--"

"Look, I'm not going to worry about it yet. Can we just take a few weeks to be happy the gorgeous, amazing girl I'm into has shitty enough taste to like me too? I'm dating _Clarke Griffin_. I'm just going to be happy for a while."

"You never just let me be happy," Octavia says darkly, but it's a surrender, and they both know it.

She's doesn't know how not to worry about him, not until Clarke comes into Tondici and says, "I'm going to buy your brother," and then she finally, finally lets herself relax and be happy for him.

It's a nice feeling.


	16. Happy New Year, Losers - Clarke POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original story [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4211661)!

"So, tell me about Bellamy."

Clarke's gotten used to having Raven around in the last few months, even thought they were on pretty good terms, and the question catches her off guard. It feels strangely threatening, even though her expression is bland.

"What about him?"

"You and Bellamy," says Raven.

"You must have plenty of footage of me and Bellamy."

"Tons. That's why I'm asking. We need some audio to put over all the stock footage we have of you two. You know, something about your relationship."

Clarke tries to school her reaction--she is on camera--but she's sure some of her annoyances flashes through. "Look, Raven, I know stuff with you and me is kind of weird, but that doesn't mean you should--"

"Whatever you think this is about, it's not," says Raven. She's quiet for a minute, and then says, "Just talk about him."

Clarke glances out of the conference room; Bellamy's desk isn't too far outside the window, and she can see him on the phone. He's wiki-surfing while he talks, reading about--something with a picture of a lizard? He catches her looking and smiles, and Clarke smiles back, automatic.

"He's my best friend," she says, looking back at the camera with a shrug. "He was the first person who was nice to me here, so I probably imprinted on him a little. But--I'm really lucky to have met him, honestly. This job can be pretty--well, it's not exactly where I planned on being, you know? When I was a kid. And it's nice I have something to look forward to every day." Raven's looking at her, steady, expressionless, and Clarke realizes what she said. "Not that Bellamy's--I meant at work! I have all sorts of good stuff outside of my job, but here it's really just him."

"And, you know, Finn works downstairs," Raven points out, mild.

"It's not like I see him!" Clarke protests, and then rubs her face. There's no reason to get worked up about this. "Is that good? Are we done?"

"We're done," says Raven, still unreadable. "Thanks."

*

Of course, Clarke has, occasionally, thought about Bellamy in a more than friendly way. Not on _purpose_. It's just kind of inevitable, like when she sees a pretty girl, she'll check her out, or how she has a bunch of pictures of Idris Elba saved on her computer in a folder called "student loan docs." Bellamy is handsome and fun and her closest friend, even outside of work, so it's really completely natural that she's occasionally thought he's attractive, and wondered if, in a parallel universe, there could be something between them. It's just--of course that happens. It's not a big deal.

She's also had some racy dreams featuring him, but just one or two, and those are out of her control.

No matter how often she tells herself that, she still feels guilty about it, something in the pit of her stomach when it crosses her mind, something like lead. She's sure Finn knows, from the way his lip curls when she mentions something funny Bellamy said, from the way he's extra affectionate when Bellamy is around. From the way he never wants to hang out with her coworkers, honestly.

But she's engaged to Finn, and Bellamy is her best friend. That's how it is. That's how it's supposed to be. It's stupid of Finn to be jealous.

Besides, it's not like Bellamy thinks about her that way. She's engaged. And he's ridiculously good-looking. He could get a girl who wasn't taken, who was cooler, more--

Well, she tries not to think about what kinds of girls Bellamy could get too much. That's his business, and she doesn't want to know. She studiously avoids any mention of his love life, because she doesn't want to pry. Not because it twists up her stomach.

Really.

And then he tells her he's in love with her.

*

The documentary is awkward. She thinks it really would be worse without him, though; people look at her, but with him by her side, she knows how to be, steady and stoic. And, really, it's not _that_ obvious.

Well, not until he says he'd save her, almost desperate, like he can't keep it in anymore.

She wishes she'd heard him then. Maybe she wouldn't have--

Reaching over for his hand is almost unconscious, just--he must be feeling so awkward, and she wants him to know she's there. And it's the worst fucking idea in the world, because she's _holding Bellamy's hand_ , and now she knows what it's like. She can't stop knowing that.

She calls her dad once everyone else has cleared out.

"Hey, kiddo, how was the documentary? As glamorous as promised?" She lets out a long, shaky breath, and tries not to cry. Her father sobers instantly. "Hey, what is it? What happened?"

"I don't think I can get married," she says. It's not what she thought she'd say, but it's been on her mind, even before Bellamy told her how he felt. "I--I just don't."

"Okay," says her father, soothing. "You don't have to."

She chokes out a laugh. "I know. I just--Bellamy told me he loves me."

There's a pause. "Wow. And now you're not sure about the wedding?"

"I already wasn't sure." She rubs her face. "I don't know. He's my--"

There's sound on the stairs and then Bellamy coming up, tie loosened around his neck, still looking devastatingly handsome in his stupid premiere suit. They both freeze, and Clarke can't breathe.

"Your?" her father prompts.

"I need to call you back, Dad," she says, and stands, wiping her clammy palms on her dress.

She doesn't know what to say. Apologies and pleas crowd her mouth and nothing comes out.

And then he kisses her.

Clarke knows how it is, being in a relationship. Kissing starts out exciting, everything starts out exciting. When you've been together for as long as she and Finn have, you get used to it. Of course kissing him doesn't make her heart race like this.

She'd get used to kissing Bellamy too. It would just be another thing they did, kisses before work, before bed. He'd probably be affectionate, pressing his lips against her hair as he passed her reading, against her neck to make her laugh. And she'd get used to all of them. They'd stop making her feel this giddy. She'd stop wanting his lips everywhere on her.

She can't get married. She really, really can't. Not when she wants Bellamy this much.

He's the one who pulls back first, breathing hard, and she's being unfair to everyone involved.

But she still asks him not to leave.

*

"You're home late," Finn observes. "How was the thing?"

"Actually pretty fun," she says, voice way too cheerful. She feels fucking sick. "There was--I don't know, it was funny. A lot of Jaha's weird over-investment in our temp, who does not give a shit. It turned out a lot better than I thought it would."

"Cool," he says. He offers her a smile. "It'll probably be nice to not have Raven around all the time, right? That must have been weird."

"It wasn't too bad. I like her a lot, honestly." She licks her lips. She can still feel Bellamy kissing her. "I'm gonna go visit my dad this weekend? He needs some help with farm stuff."

"Okay," says Finn. "Cool."

It's not until she's leaving the next morning that he says, "You didn't want me to come, did you?"

She didn't, of course, it would have been awful, but--it sucks that he didn't offer sooner, right? And, really, _farm stuff_? It's the vaguest reason of all time, and Finn doesn't even care.

She's trying very hard not to compare him to a hypothetical, relationship Bellamy. She _can't_ , because she doesn't know what Bellamy's like, when he dates someone. But she knows _him_ , knows the kind of guy he is, and he would offer to come with her, instantly. He'd want to know if everything was okay.

If she called him now and asked, he'd probably come, even though they're pretty awkward.

But she doesn't, of course. She's taking a break.

Clarke's parents got divorced when she was in college, and she's pretty sure they only stayed together as long as they did for her. It was a little weird, her getting engaged just as her parents broke up, but they're both happier being apart. Her mom moved to California and married a politician, and her dad moved to Western Massachusetts and started a sustainable goat farm. They probably should have gotten divorced sooner.

"Having a tough time, huh?" her dad asks when she arrives, and she just folds herself in his arms and lets out years of tension.

It has been years, hasn't it? She's stayed with Finn for so much longer than she should have, because breaking up feels like admitting everyone who said she got engaged too young was right, admitting that she made a mistake.

"Fuck," she says, and her dad laughs.

"Come on, you can help me check on the kids."

They wander around checking on the goats and don't talk for a while, which is nice. Clarke was always closer to her dad than her mom, and he's always known best how to deal with her. She pats the goats and helps him weed the garden, and she's the first one to finally break their silence.

"Do you think it's just wedding jitters?"

"No."

She has to laugh. "You didn't even have to think about it."

"You called me and told me you'd set a date, and you weren't even excited. You were tired. You were just glad you were finally going to stop being engaged, not that you were going to get married. I never thought you'd go through with it."

She wets her lips. "Never?"

"Not _never_. But when you didn't set a date right after you graduated, I decided it probably wouldn't happen."

"You didn't tell me that."

He shrugs. "It's your life, Clarke. I haven't always made the right choices, but they're my choices to make, just like yours." They weed in silence for a few minutes, and then he says, "I assume it won't surprise you to hear your mother and I decided to get divorced years before we did."

Clarke smiles. "No."

"We talked about it a lot when you were in high school. How we were feeling, how our relationship had changed, all that. We talked all the time. I was the one who brought up divorce, and it was hard, but I always--I knew we could talk about it. She's one of my closest friends, and I never worried about telling her the truth." He yanks up a particularly stubborn weed and grins at her in triumph; Clarke can't help smiling back. "I never got the impression you could talk to Finn about things. I bet you can't even imagine telling him about Bellamy, even if you weren't feeling conflicted about it."

Clarke swallows, throat gone dry. "No," she says, barely audible.

Her father nods. "That's why I thought you shouldn't marry him. Doesn't matter to me how old you were when you got engaged or how long it took to set a wedding date, but--you need to trust someone to marry them. And you don't."

"No," she says again, stronger.

"So, tell me about Bellamy."

Clarke has to smile, remembering Raven asking her the same question all those months ago, remembering the defensive feeling she'd gotten, like Raven was trying to frame her for something.

In retrospect, she was definitely trying to _help_.

"He's--my best friend. I can talk to him about anything." Suddenly, she can't stop. It feels like she's spent so long not really talking about Bellamy. "He's sarcastic and gruff and he wants to take care of everyone but he pretends like he doesn't. He loves his little sister so much, he talks about her all the time, he's so proud of her. She's going to be a psychologist. He's just--I don't know. Sometimes you meet someone and you just feel like they get you, you know? And he's so easy to get along with. I'm always keeping myself from texting him when we're not at work because we're--I thought maybe it was just me, that he didn't care about me as much as I cared about him, but he--" She bites back on a fucking _grin_. "He's in love with me."

Her dad laughs. "He sounds pretty great."

"He's kind of a dick," she says, fondly. "But--yeah. He's great." She rubs her face. "I'm probably not supposed to dump my fiance and tell another guy I love him, right?"

"I think it's generally recommended you wait a while after getting out of a relationship before you start another one."

Clarke remembers Bellamy's mouth on hers, his thumb rubbing her hand, the look in his eyes when he told her he loved her. "How long?"

He laughs. "However long you need. It's up to you, Clarke. Just do what feels right."

"What if what feels right is breaking up with Finn and going and jumping Bellamy?" she asks, darkly.

"I'd talk to him first. But what do I know? I've been divorced for seven years and my most serious relationship is with a goat."

"Too much information, Dad."

He puts his arm around her and squeezes. "Whatever you decide, I love you. And I'm proud of you."

"I don't think this is really a situation to be proud of. I should have--"

"You're doing the right thing. You might not have gotten there exactly how I would have, but I'm still proud."

She sags against him, relief flooding her. "Yeah. I'm doing the right thing."

*

She calls her mom and tells her she's not getting married that night, and spends Sunday morning looking for apartments before she drives back to Connecticut. Her budget isn't huge, but her mother is thrilled she's not getting married and offers financial assistance, which--ordinarily she wouldn't dream of taking money from her parents, but she needs somewhere to go, and she needs to get out _now_.

She signs a lease on her lunch break on Monday, and on Monday night she tells Finn, "I can't marry you."

He stares, jaw working, and Clarke refuses to flinch. They're bad at conversations, but they're having this one. They have to.

"What do you mean?" he finally asks.

"I don't want to get married." She wets her lips. "I'm breaking up with you."

"But--Clarke, I love you. I know you're pissed I waited this long to set a date, but you said you wanted a nice wedding, and that's expensive, and--we've put down _deposits_."

Clarke chokes on a very inappropriate laugh. From _I love you_ to _we have deposits_ , the full range of reasons she should marry him. "My mom will pay the deposits. Don't worry about that."

"You wouldn't let her help with the wedding, but you'll let her help cancel it?" he spits.

"She volunteered," Clarke says, and instantly regrets it.

"She _knows_?" Finn's a decently smart guy, and it doesn't take him long to piece it together. "This is why you went to see your dad. This is--god, is this about the fucking documentary? Is this about _Blake_?"

She flinches, and he definitely notices. She should have done this last week, before she knew about Bellamy. She should have done this years ago. Breakups are bad, but she shouldn't be _scared_.

"It's about us," she says. "It shouldn't be like this, Finn. It really shouldn't."

"Blake said something--"

"So what if he did?" Clarke shouts. "What the fuck does that matter? If I wanted to marry you, then it wouldn't matter if he did. I don't want to marry you, and it's got nothing to do with Bellamy."

"But he did say something."

"Yeah, congratulations. Instead of talking to me about how you were worried about this, you were a cagey, jealous asshole about my _best friend_ \--"

"With good reason!"

Clarke rubs her face. "Okay, whatever. You were right. He was totally trying to steal me away. And he did it. We're done, Finn. I hope you find someone who's better for you than I was. I've got a suitcase, I'll get the rest of my stuff this weekend."

"You're moving out? Already?"

"What, you don't want me to stay, do you?"

He scrubs his face. "You didn't even want to give this a chance, did you?"

She considers, weighs her options, and finally says, "No. This wasn't a discussion, Finn. It was an announcement. I'm--" The steel in her voice falters for the first time, and she swallows past a sob. "Look, I'm sorry. I should have ended it a long time ago. This isn't fixable for me."

"Because of him," Finn says, and that kills all her guilt all over again. If he wants to refuse to get it, that's on him.

"No, because of you."

She leaves her ring on the table and doesn't look back.

*

Bellamy doesn't notice she's not wearing the ring anymore until she literally waves it in his face, which is--cute. He's been cautious around her, and she can't blame him. Just because she's not engaged doesn't mean she's interested in him, and it's clearly her move.

She wonders when she's allowed to make it.

She lasts all of three days, and even that's a struggle, because--now that she _knows_ it's so hard to ignore. And he doesn't know, which seems unfair. He should know.

So by Saturday, they're curled up together on his couch, watching some weird documentary Monty recommended, Bellamy's hand tracing idle patterns on her side. It's already warm and familiar, and Clarke feels only a little guilty.

"Has Finn tried to find you?" she asks.

"Huh? No." He frowns. "Is he going to?"

"Maybe. He wasn't exactly thrilled when he figured out you were involved in our breakup."

"I was?" he asks, sounding pleased, and Clarke laughs and pokes him in the side.

"You thought you weren't?"

"I was hoping you just, you know. Independently didn't want to marry him. I'm not into breaking up relationships. Even shitty ones." But he still sounds pleased.

"It wasn't all about you. Or even mostly about you. I should have broken up with him years ago. But--I kind of forgot what it was like. To really like someone. We'd been together so long I just sort of thought that's how it was. But I'm pretty sure if I actually loved him, I wouldn't--" She doesn't know quite how to finish, and Bellamy just nuzzles her hair, encouraging. "I wouldn't feel this way about you," she finally settles on, because it feels a little early for _her_ to use the word _love_. Bellamy's had years to think about it; she doesn't want him to worry she's rushing into it.

He laughs and kisses her hair. "Well, I'll let you know if he challenges me to a duel. You can be my second. Now be quiet, I'm paying a lot of attention to whatever this documentary is about."

Clarke laughs and snuggles back into him. "Yeah, I can tell."

Even if she can't tell him she loves him _now_ , she can definitely say it very soon. Because she's so fucking sure.

*

"So," says Raven, with a smug smile. "Tell me about Bellamy."

The cat is already out of the bag about the two of them. Despite his big plans to say nothing about the two of them, Bellamy cracked in like five minutes because he's a sucker, and Monty knows it, and he totally abused it. Clarke definitely made fun of him about it.

She glances at him out the window; just like last time, he's on the phone, drumming his pen against his hair. His computer is displaying his desktop background, which is the two of them and Octavia from her visit home over the summer. Bellamy's got one arm around Clarke and the other around his sister and they're all making faces at the camera. Clarke knows he has it set as his background so he can look at it when he wants to strangle Kane, and she has it set as her background because it makes her feel stupidly happy.

She turns back to Raven with a grin. "What is there to say? He's my best friend. I love him."

It's not news to Raven, who spends so much time with Bellamy's roommate that she might as well pay him rent, but she still looks stupidly happy. If Clarke hadn't broken up with Finn, she's pretty sure Raven would have showed up at the wedding and interrupted them during the _if anyone has any reason these two should not be wed_ bit. The only person who wanted Clarke to marry Finn less than Raven did was Bellamy. Well, and Clarke.

"That's it?" Raven prompts, when Clarke doesn't say anything else.

"That's the important part, right?"

Raven smiles. "Yeah, that's the important part."


	17. Does Enchantment Pour Out Of Every Door - Bellamy POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4306602)!

Bellamy did not really know what to expect from the erotic bakery next to his mother's-- _his_ \--store, because, really, who has an erotic bakery? He has no idea. Erotic bakeries are not a real thing. Honestly, whenever he thinks about them, he just thinks of that Simpsons Halloween episode where Homer gets sent to the real world and wanders into an erotic cake store. That's pretty much what he's picturing.

Instead, _Discrete Delights_ is clean and sleek, a kind of stylish, modern place, in stark contrast to his family's shop. It's been in the family for generations, and it's the neighborhood shop that's an unquestioned part of the community, which is probably the only reason they're still open. His mother loved this shop, and that's why he can't leave it.

He meets Clarke two days after he reopens the store; she comes in with a basket full of cookies shaped like flowers and a lasagna, and he doesn't even for a second think she could be the owner of the erotic bakery.

"I figure food's always welcome," she says, with a small smile, and he stares at her blankly for a long minute. He's had a rough few weeks, with his mother and taking Octavia and moving back here, and he doesn't really know how to deal with a gorgeous blonde girl offering him food. "I'm really sorry about your mother. Let us know if you need anything."

"Um. Us?" he asks, blank.

"Oh, jesus, right. I'm Clarke Griffin. Me and my partner, Monty, run the bakery next door."

"Oh my god, you're the erotic cake lady?"

Clarke laughs, and it's this awesome, delighted sound. He can feel himself relaxing, just a little, just being around her. "Like I said, it's Clarke. But yeah, I decorate the erotic baked goods. We figured you'd rather have flowers than breasts, though."

He looks at the basket again, blinking hard to keep from tearing up. It's been a bad month. "Yeah, they're--" He gives her the best smile he can muster, and she returns it. "This is really nice of you. Thanks, Clarke."

She shrugs, easy. "Anything you need, just let us know. Your mom really helped us out when we were starting out, and Octavia's great. Just say the word."

"Thanks," he says. "Again."

"I mean it." She gives him a salute. "Nice to meet you, Bellamy."

And he's left holding a basket of cookies, staring after Clarke Griffin in something of a daze.

He'll come to learn she has that effect on him.

*

He and Clarke are friendly, but they don't start being _friends_ until they start the betting thing. In all honesty, he kind of tries to avoid being friends. Not because he doesn't like her, but because he likes her way too much. He likes her boyfriend too--Monty's cool, a funny, laid back guy, and he and Clarke are easy together. They make a great team. And they live together and own a business together, so they're obviously really serious.

So, yeah. He tried very hard to not get too close to Clarke, but she wanders in on a Tuesday afternoon, and it's _dead_.

"Shouldn't Valentine's Day be a big holiday for you?" she asks, poking at a bouquet.

"It's not for a couple more weeks," he says. "Besides, we've been getting tons of orders."

"Yeah, I can see it's hopping in here."

"I notice you're wandering out of your store during business hours, so I assume the sexy cakes aren't exactly flying off the shelves."

She grins at him, and his stupid heart flips over. Bellamy doesn't have much of a social life--between the store and Octavia, he hasn't had much time to try to get one--so it's natural he's got a minor crush on the only attractive, age-appropriate woman he knows.

But she's taken, so.

"We're doing fine, thanks."

"Oh really?"

"Really. Sexy cakes, very lucrative. Also sexy cookies. Occasionally sexy donuts, when Monty gets the urge."

"Uh huh." He taps the counter top, but--he's bored. He's lonely. He can't help himself. "I bet we do a better Valentine's business than you do."

"You bet me, huh? Bet me what?"

"I dunno. I'll give you a cool plant. Or I would, if you won. But when I win, you can bake me some cookies."

"High roller," she teases, but she's still grinning. "You're on."

*

He stomps her, but she doesn't seem even a little upset. She just gives him a basket of dick cookies and says, "Like I could care for a plant. So, who do you think's going to win Saint Patrick's Day?"

*

He's halfway to in love with her when he sees her boyfriend on a date with another guy, and he doesn't really know what he's supposed to do with that. Tell her, obviously, it's the right thing to do, but it still feels _selfish_ , like he's doing it because he's crazy about her, not because he's concerned. But she deserves to know, right? She definitely does.

It just also happens to benefit him. It's not selfish; it's coincidence.

He's an asshole.

He takes her outside, does it as politely as he can. "Monty's cheating on you." Like ripping off a band-aid.

She gapes at him for a long minute and finally manages, "No, he's not."

"Look, I know this sucks," he says, wretched, "but I saw him on Saturday with--"

Clarke is smiling at him like he's an idiot, and when she says, "The guy he's been seeing," he realizes he probably _is_ an idiot. "It was their third date." He can't formulate a response, so Clarke adds, "He's gay? We're friends? It is impossible for him to be cheating on me."

Bellamy recontextualizes his entire life around Clarke being single, which explains a lot of things like her flirting with him and leaning over in his general direction wearing low-cut tops and taking him out for drinks without her boyfriend and--wow, he really is a fucking _idiot_ , because he's never even see them so much as hug, and--yeah.

"Okay, cool," he says, and flees back into his own store, because the alternative is lying down in a ditch and dying of embarrassment.

*

"Did you know Clarke and Monty weren't dating?" he asks Octavia, when she gets back from school.

The look she gives him makes lying in a ditch and dying of embarrassment seem really appealing. Way better than continuing to have to deal with this situation.

"Duh. Who thought they were dating?"

"Never mind. Go do your homework."

Clarke shows up an hour after that, just before closing. She looks--amused, and he wants to die. Or jump her. He _really_ wants to jump her.

"I want to get flowers for this guy I like?" she says, looking at a display of azaleas with deliberate casualness. "And he works in a flower store, so he probably has really good taste. It should be something fancy."

His heartrate picks up to an alarming speed, but he manages to keep his voice steady. "Of course. You want something really expensive for someone like that. The more expensive, the better. Like, a hundred bucks. Minimum."

"That makes sense. But it also needs to say, _you're an idiot, why did you think I was dating Monty_. I know flower language is really complicated and subtle, I figure you can do that, right?"

She smirks at him, and his serious act completely falls apart.

She's single, and she likes him. If everything goes right, he is going to _marry_ this girl.

*

"You can't do the flowers for your own wedding."

"Why not? You're doing the cake."

"Monty's doing the cake. I'm icing the cake."

"Are there going to be dicks on it?"

"No comment." She bumps his shoulder. "Come on, doing the flowers will take forever, and you'll stress about it for days. Everything will have to be exactly right. You'll neglect all your other orders. I'm looking out for you."

"You act like I'm not going to micromanage if I'm not doing the flowers," he grumbles. "If I'm doing them, at least I'm just micromanaging myself. It's a lot easier than micromanaging someone else."

Clarke drops her head onto his shoulder. "That's reassuring."

"Well, you're going to put dicks on our wedding cake."

"They're going to be _subtle_."

He snorts. "Oh, yeah, those _subtle_ dicks your _porn bakery_ is so famous for."

Clarke grins. "Okay, if you do better business for Labor Day, you can do the flowers. And if I do better business, we have a dick cake at our wedding."

"And by dick cake you mean--"

"A cake that's literally shaped like a dick." She offers her hand. "Deal?"

He really loves her. "Deal."


	18. How Fucked Is the T? - Bellamy POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4408694)!

_what time is lincoln's thing tonight_ , Bellamy texts his sister, once he's settled in at his desk. He's not having the best morning. He was running late, but managed to just make his regular bus, and then Clarke wasn't there, which means he couldn't attempt to ask her to Lincoln's thing, which--okay, he probably would have failed at, but at least she'd be around to tease him about it. And then when he got to work, he got in _another_ fight with his boss about how he's not supposed to be a _friend_ to these kids, but a mentor, and he barely restrained himself from saying some shit that would get him fired.

He scrubs his hand over his face. He really needs to get better at life.

_9 and you are going you are not allowed to skip this, bell_

He has ten minutes before his meeting, so he ignores his sister and pulls up Clarke instead. They're sort of friends, right? They have each other's numbers and talk most days and she seems to like him. It's not weird for him to try to talk to her. This is something people do all the time.

Human interaction. It's a thing.

_sick?_ he texts. 

She replies almost immediately: _superhero-movie-related peer pressure_

He's very glad he has his own office and no one else will ever see the face he makes when he reads the message. No one would ever let him live it down. His smile is that goofy. _that was my second guess_ , he sends back, and doesn't take his phone to the meeting, so he won't be able to stress about if she's replied. 

Well, that's the theory. In practice, he still stresses about if she's replied with no way of knowing, because he didn't bring his phone. This is probably why his sister says he's going to die alone. Shit like this.

When he gets back to his desk, there's nothing new from her. He refuses to let himself read into it--really, it wasn't like the text _needed_ a response--and he debates for only a few seconds before he says, _so you don't need emergency soup_

Octavia texts him, _seriously, bell, this is a big deal, you are coming!!_ and then a blank box which he assumes is some kind of angry emoji. Or a dick. She knows he doesn't have any emojis and likes sending him really inappropriate ones that he will never know about, for reasons he's not really clear on. What's the point if he doesn't even know it's a dick?

Clarke says, _I don't NEED emergency soup. but non-emergency soup sounds very appealing. know anywhere good?_ , and he responds, _if it's not an emergency, you should come to this thing instead_ before he can lose his nerve.

Once she's agreed, he texts Octavia again: _I'm coming. I'm even bringing a friend. suck it._

She calls him forty minutes later, during the time she knows he's usually free. Octavia's nosy, but she's also fairly considerate. He raised her to respect other people's time.

"You have a friend?"

"Shut up, I have a lot of friends."

"A friend who isn't Miller? Because if it was Miller, you'd just say Miller. Who's your friend who isn't Miller?"

"Her name's Clarke," he says, and braces himself for her reaction, but apparently he's actually stunned her into silence.

"You have a _girl_ friend?" she finally asks. "Where did you meet her? When did this happen?"

"She works at the library here," he says. "We ride the bus together."

There's another long pause. "You made a friend on the bus? How?"

"I don't know. She's--we both missed the bus together and looked lost so I figured I could probably try talking to her. And she's at the library, so she's been helping me out with some programs. She's--just don't be embarrassing, okay?"

"I'm totally going to be embarrassing. She's getting dinner with us first, right? She should get dinner with us. I want to meet her. You have a _bus girlfriend_."

"I'm trying to turn her into an actual girlfriend," he admits. "Not doing so well."

"Hey, you asked her to come to something with you, that's totally the first step! Tell her to come to dinner too. I'll tell you if she's interested. I am a way better wingman than Miller."

"That's because Miller doesn't care and just texts his boyfriend the whole time we're out anywhere." He rubs his face. "I'll ask if she wants to get dinner too, fine. But--be nice, okay? She's new in town and doesn't know that many people yet."

"So you're trying to lock her down before she realizes she has better options."

"Shut up, Octavia."

*

Bellamy isn't actually anti-social, he was just taking care of his sister during the years most people built up a solid social circle, and it was hard to really get friends going around that. And he doesn't exactly _love_ interacting with most people. He likes the kids at the club (because, according to both his sister and Miller, he is actually unable to resist taking care of children in need), and Lincoln is okay, and he has Octavia and Miller. He's not upset with his current social sphere.

But he really _likes_ Clarke. He wants to see more of her. She makes him want to figure out how to do the whole casual hanging out thing, but he hasn't been in the beginning stages of a friendship, let alone a romantic relationship, for years. He knows Miller well enough at this point that they mostly just sit around both playing on their phones while Netflix is on in the background, but he doesn't really remember how they got there.

_how do I make a girl like me_ , he texts Miller.

_How the fuck would I know, that's the opposite of what I want._

_it's probably like guys, but in reverse, right?_

_You really do not understand how human relationships work._

_that is why I'm texting you, yeah_

He showers and spends way too long examining everything in his dresser, which just sends him into a self-conscious dumbass spiral, so he throws on a t-shirt and jeans and goes to meet her.

And it's honestly pretty great. Octavia shares way too much information and is generally an embarrassment, but Clarke is laughing and smiling and relaxed, spending time with him in a non-commute-or-work environment, and he's having a really good time, even if he is absolutely fucking terrible at human interaction. She kisses him on the cheek before she goes into her apartment, and he doesn't even start freaking out about what it means until the next morning, he's in that good a mood.

*

He almost misses the bus because he can't decide what to wear that morning either--something that says _we kind of went on a date and I want to look good, but not like I'm trying too hard, and also professional, and also I want to make out_. Which is a lot of message to try to cover in just one outfit. Generally he just gets to _I'm wearing a shirt with a collar and also a tie, what else do you want from me_.

Clarke beams when he runs up. That's something.

"Hi," she says.

"Hi."

Her grin widens. "I thought you might be sick. I was thinking about where I'd get emergency soup."

He lets out a surprised laugh and instantly feels better. She's teasing him, which is all he ever wants from his friends. So they can definitely be friends, if nothing else. And she looks fond, so they can probably be some more too. "You think I'm an idiot, don't you," he says. It's not even a question. Everyone who loves him basically thinks he's an idiot at least half the time. It's encouraging, really.

"Your sister said you missed some developmental stages," she says, cheerful.

"God, why did I think it was a good idea to introduce you guys?"

"I was kind of wondering, yeah."

He ponders the question as they find seats on the bus, her next to him, their shoulders brushing together. There are few enough people they could sit farther apart, but, well, they're not. So that's cool.

"If you said no, I was just going to tell myself you didn't like art," he says. "To preserve my dignity." It doesn't exactly answer the Octavia question, but it's closer to _I want to date you_ , which seems good.

She takes his hand and gives it a squeeze. "Hey, Bellamy?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to go on a date with me tonight?"

He laughs and can't help leaning in to brush his lips against hers, quick, just because he thinks he's allowed to. "I would love to."

They get dinner and it's a lot easier with both of them on the same page about this being a date, and them wanting to date each other. Clarke cracks jokes and teases him about his social ineptitude, and he points out that she's into it, which clearly says terrible things about her as a human being.

"You could probably date someone competent," he points out. "So what exactly are you doing with me?"

They're walking back toward her apartment, taking it slow, even though Central is basically the least romantic place of all time. They should have gone to Harvard for dinner. He could maybe pull off romantic in Harvard.

Probably still no.

Clarke just smiles at him. "I like you," she says, simple and genuine, and it's kind of fucking awesome.

*

On Tuesday, she leans her head against him on the bus and tries not to fall asleep.

"Rough weekend?" he teases.

"New boyfriend," she says, closing her eyes. "My roommate insisted on staying up late to gossip about him."

Bellamy feels a warm, pleased flush all over his body, and he leans in to nuzzle her hair. "Yeah?"

"Well, with her it's more talking shit than gossiping, but there's plenty of shit to talk, so--" He snorts, and she smiles. "She already thinks you're an idiot, so that's good."

"Just what I was hoping for, yeah. Based on your glowing accounts of me?"

"Based on the fact that I met you on the bus and the first date you asked me on was to your sister's boyfriend's art show."

"I thought it was classy!"

Clarke laughs. "I told her it was cute, and she rolled her eyes, so she wants to meet you and judge you in person for herself."

"Sounds awesome," he says, but the sarcasm doesn't quite land. He's pretty excited for her judgmental roommate. He's excited for basically everything about her.

She knots his tie around his neck once they get off the bus and gives him a sunny smile. "Have a good day at work, honey."

"This is going to be a thing, isn't it?" He can't keep the smile off his own face.

"That's the plan," she says, and, really, he can live with that.


	19. The Boy With the Eager Eyes - Bellamy POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4769321)!

"I got you a birthday present."

Bellamy laughs and wraps his big sister up in a giant bear hug, making her squeak. He had a lot of good reasons to move to the city after he graduated, but proximity to Octavia was still a major factor. He adores his sister. "Is it five months late or seven months early? Also, why don't you just give it to me as a graduation present? That was way more recent, and you didn't even come, so you owe me."

"Clarke is moving in with me," she says, ignoring him, and Bellamy's jaw actually drops.

"Clarke _Griffin_?" he asks. "Like, high-school Clarke?"

"No, that other Clarke we know. Yeah, Griffin."

Part of him is tempted to object, to say that is not a present for him, but O would rightfully call him out on that being bullshit. Because--okay, it's not as if he has been pining over his sister's former best friend for eight years, but Clarke Griffin was definitely his first love, and he was still in love with her when she went to college, so it never really resolved itself. He never got over her, because she was gone before he could, so there's still this small, adolescent part of him that hears the name _Clarke Griffin_ and remembers being eight years old and thinking she was the fucking coolest girl he'd ever seen, and being twelve and seeing her at the pool in a bikini and having to deal with some really unappreciated hard-ons.

And being fourteen and saying goodbye when she went to college, her kissing his temple and telling him she'd miss him.

"Why's she moving in with you?" he asks, mostly to stop Octavia grinning at him smugly.

"She just finished grad school, got a job up here. She asked if anyone needed a roommate on Facebook, and since Indra was also leaving after graduation--"

"She's moving in with you."

"Yup! So, you're welcome."

"I probably don't have a thing for her anymore," he mutters.

"Nah, I've seen her Facebook pictures. You definitely still have a thing for her."

"Great. Thanks."

*

Bellamy is not stupid or naive. He knows that Clarke Griffin is not going to show up like some fairy-tale princess he is destined to marry. Despite what Octavia says, he's not even convinced he'll feel anything for Clarke, aside from a kind of vague, nostalgic fondness. He's had that happen before, seeing a girl he used to date or have a crush on, and it's this weird strange sensation, like he thinks it would be to have a phantom limb. The feeling of having once cared for someone. It's not something you can forget, not really, but--he's not convinced he's going to see Clarke Griffin and fall immediately back in love with her.

So, of course, he sees Clarke Griffin, and falls immediately back in love with her.

Octavia sends him downstairs to see if he can find Clarke, because she's supposed to be showing up soon (and because, it must be said, Octavia loves to torment him), and Clarke literally runs into him. He isn't sure it's her, not until she turns to him and smiles and he sees the beauty mark on her lip and the curl of her hair and all the things about her he apparently has burned into his memory.

He's so fucking into Clarke Griffin.

It's weirdest because it's not even just lingering childhood affection; even leaving all that aside, she's gorgeous and cool, exactly the kind of girl he'd try to pick up in a bar. But this is _Clarke_ , so he doesn't know what to do. He knows her as Octavia's awesome best friend he wanted to marry when he was a kid; she knows him as Octavia's tag-along little brother, and probably always will.

Even if he _does_ catch her checking out his arms when he's moving her dresser. 

They settle in for pizza once the moving is done, Octavia in the easy chair with Bellamy and Clarke on opposite sides of the couch. Clarke even went out and bought them a six-pack, although she does make Bellamy show her his license before she lets him have any.

"Your picture is adorable," she teases, and Bellamy rolls his eyes and hopes he isn't blushing.

"I'm always adorable," he says, and snags a slice of pizza.

"What's your new job, Clarke?" Octavia asks. Bellamy's glad she's on normal human conversation duty, because he's mostly trying not to flirt with Clarke too obviously, and it's taking up most of his energy.

"Assistant curator at the history museum," says Clarke, and Bellamy nearly chokes on the beer. Octavia gives him a _don't embarrass me_ look, and he flips her off while Clarke isn't paying attention.

"That's awesome," he says, when he recovers. "I love that museum."

Clarke looks pleased. "Me too. The head curator went through the same grad school program I did, which is why I got the job even though I don't have that much real work experience. Gotta say, it's pretty awesome to get a job through my own connections, instead of my parents' connections. It's the next best thing to actually earning it."

"So can you get people into the museum for free?" Bellamy asks, nudging Clarke with his foot. "Just, you know. For future reference."

Clarke laughs and pats his ankle. "I can get you into the museum any time you want, yes. You _did_ help me move. It's the least I can do."

Octavia either gets a real call from Lincoln or fakes it pretty well as Bellamy is getting ready to leave, so it's just Clarke who sees him out, leaning against the wall next to the door with a smile. Bellamy is all too aware that he could just lean down and press his lips against hers, and he has to remind himself not to. Very, very firmly.

"Thanks again for your help," says Clarke. "And it was good to see you."

"I only live a few blocks away," he says. "You're not sending me off to war. I'll probably be back." He grins. "And you have to get me into the museum."

"Oh yeah, I do. Do you have my number?"

"Nope."

"Give me your phone."

He hands it over and she taps away for a bit; when he gets it back, _Clarke Griffin_ is in his contacts, and he's sent her a text that says _Bellamy! :D_

The grin on his face must be ridiculous, and he's glad she's playing with her own phone instead of looking at him.

"You can text me any time you want to come by," she says. "See you later."

"Later," he agrees.

When he gets home, Miller raises his eyebrows, looking unimpressed. "That took a while."

Bellamy flops down on the couch and rubs his face. "I couldn't possibly have actually found the girl of my dreams when I was eight, right? There's no way."

"Hell if I know. When I was eight I was working through weird feelings about the red Power Ranger, so you're ahead of me."

"Hey, maybe he's your soulmate."

"Yeah, fingers crossed."

*

Clarke doesn't really know anyone in town, which means she spends most of her time with Octavia. And Bellamy really just knows Miller, who is fairly anti-social, and Octavia, so he also spends most of his time with Octavia.

"Yeah," says Miller. "Because if you had other people to hang out with you definitely wouldn't take every chance you got to stalk her roommate."

"Not stalking," Bellamy says. "We're invited to the same places. That's not stalking." He pauses. "Also, you have a thing for Octavia's coworker, so shut the fuck up."

"And I'm dealing with it in the normal way."

"Pretending he doesn't exist and not talking to him even when he starts conversations?"

"Shut up."

Bellamy jumps on Miller for a tackle-hug, mostly because he wants to stop talking about Clarke. Miller claims Bellamy is overly affectionate because he was raised by Octavia; Bellamy chooses to interpret this as Miller loving hugs, but being too embarrassed to admit it because of toxic masculinity or some shit.

"God, I fucking hate you, Blake," says Miller.

"I know."

"I hope it works out with your girlfriend just so you stop having to get all your fucking cuddles from me."

"I get plenty of cuddles from her," he says, which is even true. Clarke is prickly most of the time, but she's an affectionate drunk, and Bellamy's learned that when people are like that, they're generally affectionate people who are embarrassed about it (see: Miller), and they will appreciate it if he just makes the first move all the time. Which Clarke definitely does, and it's awesome. "But I hope it works out too."

*

Bellamy gets to know Clarke slowly.

He knew a lot about her already, of course, but he wasn't really her _friend_ before. She was Octavia's friend who liked him well enough, but they were never going to have long heart-to-heart talks about their lives. She and Octavia were good about making him feel included, but he felt like an accessory a lot of the time, an extra that was included with his sister, not his own person.

But it's different now.

Octavia has Lincoln and a whole host of other friends; she's the most easily sociable person Bellamy has ever met, and it still kind of awes him sometimes. Bellamy loves the people he loves with a loyalty so fierce it can be overwhelming, but he doesn't do well with random small talk. Clarke's the same way, so they make easy allies, but it's more than that. They're surprisingly compatible, getting into their own side conversations and arguments without even realizing it, gravitating toward each other without meaning to.

Well, he assumes she doesn't mean to. It's pretty much impossible for him to not notice her, in the periphery of his awareness, laughing and smiling, but he tries not to be too obvious about it.

She doesn't seem inclined toward one-night stands, that's nice. And when she's bored, she always comes to find him.

He finds out her parents got divorced a few years back, but everyone is still on good terms. She feels like she doesn't really have much of a home anymore, since neither of her parents lives in the house where she grew up, and when she says that, it's actually difficult to keep from saying something stupid and sappy about how she can have a home with him and O. But he manages.

She's pretty drunk when she tells him she was pre-med with an art history minor in college, but she'd lost out on some sort of academic prize when her pre-med ex-girlfriend sabotaged her.

"Not, like--" She makes a face, and he has to smile. Her drunk-thinking faces are his favorite. "If I'd really wanted it, that wouldn't have stopped me. But, god, I couldn't even imagine it, you know? Like--who does that? She said it was her dream and I was like, I don't want it that much. Not even close. And so I didn't go to med school."

He snorts. "I think there's some middle ground between _wanting to go to med school_ and _wanting to go to med school so much you screw up your relationship and betray your girlfriend's trust_."

She elbows him, which only makes him grin wider. He smiles pretty much non-stop when she's around. "I know, but--I didn't really care that much. Like, I was pissed at her, really pissed, but just for being an asshole. Not about school or her ruining my dreams for the future. So I decided not to go."

"How'd you get into the museum thing?"

"Art history and parents," she says, amused. "My mom knew a guy, and god forbid her daughter have any period of unemployment on her resume." She tucks herself closer to him. "I know that's a shitty thing to complain about. I'm not complaining. I just--I feel bad taking advantage of my connections, but I don't think the world is actually a better place if I don't? I just need to try to use my powers to make a difference for good, instead of ignoring them and acting like they don't exist. That's--that makes sense, right?"

"Yeah," he says. He rests his chin on her head. "Have you considered using them to get me a job at the museum? I could hang out with so many books."

She laughs. "I'll keep you in mind."

*

He doesn't really know how, exactly, Miller and Monty start dating. Miller just says, out of the blue "Going on a date tonight,” on a random Friday.

Bellamy boggles at him. "A date?"

"What? I date."

"With Monty?"

Miller's ears go a little dark. "Yes."

"Holy shit!"

"If you hug me, I swear to god, Blake--"

"But--holy shit!"

Miller finally cracks a smile. "I know, right? It's pretty awesome."

"Seriously, congrats. What happened?"

"Hell if I know."

"So, Monty did all the work?"

"It was great, yeah. He tricked me into having a lunch date yesterday, and then it was just--yeah." He glares again. "We're not talking about this."

It doesn’t make a huge difference to Bellamy’s life, except that Miller is busier, and he spends even more time with Octavia’s friends, so--it’s actually great. He misses Miller a little, but it’s not like they ever really talked _that_ much, more just occasionally grunting, kicking each other, and hugs when Bellamy wants to piss Miller off, and that’s still totally doable.

And then, Miller says, “I’m cooking for Monty tonight, can you clear out?” and it’s actually great for him.

"So, when do you need me gone?"

"Like--seven to eleven? Is that cool? I know it's short notice--"

"No, that's fine." He grins. "O works late on Thursdays."

Miller rolls his eyes. "If I'd known I was encouraging your stalking--"

"We're friends, it's not stalking!" 

"Keep telling yourself that."

Bellamy cuffs him on the head. "See if I clear out to let you get laid again."

"You're a saint."

"I know."

He doesn't mean to start the whole _Thursday is Miller's date night_ thing. He really doesn't. Clarke's the one who asks about it, when they're out on Saturday night.

"Raven wants to know if we should reschedule Skype dates," she says. Bellamy frowns, and she says, "If you're going to be hanging around on Thursdays because Miller's kicking you out--"

"Oh!" So far, Miller has been on dates the last two Thursdays, and Bellamy's gone to visit Clarke both times. As far as he knows, the day is by coincidence, not design. But--Clarke. "Yeah. That would be good. If you don't mind."

"Nah," she says. "Your stupid documentaries make me feel cultured. Give me something to talk about with my pretentious coworkers."

He presses a kiss to her temple. "Always glad to help."

And then she just assumes he'll always be at her place on Thursday, and he doesn't know how to not go over, if he's allowed to. He does try to tell her the first time Miller doesn't mention a date, but he's still composing the _I don't have to come over but I still can, you know, if you want_ text in his mind when she texts, _Pizza tonight? I have a weird craving for pineapple and cheese_.

_Are you pregnant?_ he texts back.

_Almost certainly. You figured it out. Don't tell anyone. My total lack of sex life and I are keeping it quiet._

_Did you want other toppings, or just pineapple?_

_Surprise me. See you at 7?_

His fingers twitch to tell her he doesn't _have_ to come. If she doesn't want to see him. But he chickens out, and just replies, _Can't wait._

Then he feels like a total tool and goes to restock the best sellers section until he stops blushing.

*

He assumes Miller will be the first to call him out on it, but it's Clarke. Or, well, maybe it's Octavia, but she doesn't know about the Thursday thing. She just knows he's generally a dumbass.

"My roommate says you're not dating," she tells him, by way of greeting, when she calls him on a Wednesday evening.

"Uh," he says. "We're not."

"Well, get on that," she says, and hangs up.

He sort of stares at the phone for a minute, and then checks the clock. It's eight, so--probably she's just being drunk and overprotective. Or maybe Clarke has a date or something, and she's worried he will get his heart broken if he doesn't say something.

Oh god, what if Clarke has a date.

He manages to freak himself out about that for about eighteen hours, until Clarke texts him her dinner preferences for Thursday, and a weight lifts off him.

He's so fucked.

*

Two weeks later, Clarke figures out that Miller doesn't have a date night.

He'd had a plan for this. Not a _good_ plan, just--kind of a terrible speech about how much he likes her, and not just because she was his first crush. Something about how she's smart and beautiful and amazing and he didn't know how to tell her, because he thinks she might actually be perfect.

It's just as well it goes straight out of his head when push comes to shove; it's embarrassing enough to have to tell your first crush you're still into her without also giving an actual speech.

But she does kiss him. So he did something right.

*

When Bellamy wakes up Friday morning, he wishes, very genuinely, that there was a way he could go back in time and talk to himself in ninth grade. Because he had a shitty couple years back then, after Mom died and before he and Octavia had learned to be a family without her. It had felt like it should be so easy, because she'd never done them much good in the first place, but everything had been hard for a while, and then it gradually got easier, and he got to be happy, even. Happier than he was when his mom was alive.

And now he's waking up in bed with Clarke Griffin, and she's every bit as awesome as he thought she was when he was a kid, when his feelings for her were based primarily on hormones and hero worship. That's the kind of thing his past self should know. His life is going to get _awesome_.

Clarke rolls over and smiles up at him, hair tangled around her shoulders, a few red marks on her throat from his mouth. She looks happy too, and he can't help leaning down to kiss her.

"Morning," she murmurs against his lips, winding her arms around his neck. "When do you have work?"

"Not until ten," he says, trailing kisses down her jaw. "You?"

"Same."

He nips her neck. "Plenty of time," he says.

Clarke grins and rolls them over so she's on top of him. "Not nearly enough," she teases. "But we'll figure it out."

*

The first time Bellamy Blake told Clarke Griffin he loved her, he was nine and she was thirteen, and she was getting ready to go to a _dance_. There would be boys there, so he felt like it was important to get in before any of them did, to make his feelings known.

She'd ruffled his hair and said, "I love you too, Bell," so easily that it was almost worse than her not saying it at all.

The second time he says it, he's twenty-two and she's twenty-six, and she's just finished completely trouncing Miller at some weird imported fighting game Monty bought on eBay while he was high.

She slumps against him, grinning in triumph, and he kisses her temple and says, "God, I love you," without even thinking about it.

"I know," she says, but then she leans her head against his shoulder and slides her hand under his shirt to rest warm on his side. "I love you too," she adds, soft, and it's every bit as awesome as he always thought it would be.


	20. Write a Loving Letter, Boy - Clarke POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3812617)!

"Aren’t you worried?” Lincoln asks.

Clarke doesn’t look away from the pot she’s working on. It’s going to be Lincoln’s wedding present to Octavia; Clarke makes it, Lincoln paints it, everything is very romantic. “About what?”

“Bellamy dating.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s going to be so bad at it. But I don’t think he’s going to get his heart broken or anything. He’ll get bored after a week or two.”

“That wasn’t what I meant. I kept expecting you to object. Like in the movies.  _If anyone has any reason Bellamy Blake should not get a girlfriend_ \--” He pauses. “Not that I blame you for not wanting to get in the middle of that conversation. Blake sibling fights are terrifying.”

“That wasn’t a fight, they’re so much scarier when they fight.” She worries her lip. Part of her feels like she  _should_  be jealous that Bellamy is going to attempt to date. But the rest of her just can’t muster it up. She’s been in love with him for so long that she doesn’t really think about it anymore. Not that she’d object, if he was interested, but--he’s not. So it’s fine. “He’ll get tired of it in a week or two,” she says again. “He’s just self-conscious because he realized he’s never had a girlfriend before, but he’ll figure out it’s because he’s lazy and doesn’t know how to date, and he’ll give up.”

“I still don’t understand why you don’t just tell him.”

“Because--” she starts, but she can’t explain it to Lincoln. She met him in college, and she was the one who introduced him to Octavia; he’s one of her closest non-Blake friends, but she still doesn’t know how to make him understand. Bellamy loves her more than anyone else in the entire world, she knows that. Or, at least, more than anyone but Octavia, and he loves her in a different way than he loves his sister. But it’s never been romantic for him; if it was, he’d tell her. And if she told him, there’s a part of her that worries he’d think he felt the same just because she’s his best friend, and he always wants to make her happy. He wouldn’t  _know_  he was doing that, wouldn’t do it on purpose, but--she just doesn’t know how to feel sure. That it wouldn’t fuck everything up. “Because he’s a disaster at relationships,” she says, finally. “Which is why his dating thing is going to fail.”

And it does fail. Bellamy has no idea what he’s doing with dating, and Clarke, being an awesome friend, has his back. Which mostly involves the usual blend of mockery, alcohol, and patronizing supportive gestures you’d expect from a slightly inappropriate little-league coach, but those are the foundations of their rock-solid friendship, so that’s fine. 

Raven worries her a little, just because--Raven’s  _awesome_. She’s gorgeous, smart and sarcastic, and Clarke is a little jealous she’s so straight, except she’s also kind of decided to give up on dating, after the fight she had with Lexa about how she’s in love with her best friend. At the time, it felt unfair, but she’s come around. It really isn’t fair.

Still, she’s not going to sabotage him or anything, and maybe if he gets a real girlfriend, she’ll be able to move on. But instead, Raven confirms they’re not dating, and once they send Bellamy off to hit on other girls, Raven gives her a calculating look and asks, “Why aren’t you the one dating him?”

“Because he’s not into me,” Clarke says simply.

“Says who?”

“Says the last twenty years of being best friends.” She takes a shot of gin. “It’s not a big deal.”

“What’s his bet with his sister? For the dating thing.”

“He pays for the flowers at her wedding if he doesn’t have a date.”

“So, what can I bet you? That you end up his date.”

“You want to bet me that I’m his date? You know that’s totally in my control, right? Even if he asks me, I can just say no.”

Raven snorts. “Yeah, uh, there’s no way you’re ever going to turn him down if he asks you out.”

Clarke’s eyes find Bellamy automatically, talking to a pretty girl who’s smiling and blushing. Her heart does this stupid twitch at the curl of his mouth and the warmth in his eyes, and it’s so  _easy_  to be in love with him, honestly. It’s not even hard to not have him, most of the time. But sometimes want rises in her throat, when she thinks about how it’s been twenty years of not getting him, and how she’s looking at the rest of her life, still not getting him, and it just feels unfathomable.

“No,” she admits, soft. “Not if he asked.”

Raven rolls her eyes. “Fifty bucks says he takes you to the wedding. And another fifty you guys are married within a year of that. He’s going to figure out why he doesn’t want to date any other girls sooner or later.”

She hasn’t managed to take her eyes off him, but she offers Raven her hand anyway. “Deal.”

*

“Dating sucks,” he declares, after Anya breaks up with him and switches to Lexa. Clarke hopes they don’t ever ask for a double date. Bellamy would probably say yes, and it would be the most awkward meal of all time.

"You can afford to pay for Octavia's flowers,” she points out. “You could just stop this."

He’s quiet, and when she looks at him, he’s staring into the distance, actually looking upset. "It's weird, right? That I can't do this?"

Something inside Clarke twists up, and she feels awful, suddenly. For being happy he’s single, that this isn’t working. She puts her arm around him and puts her head on his shoulder. "Don't get mopey on me, Bell. You're awesome. Some people aren't meant for relationships. It's not a big deal."

"What about you?"

Her heart stops. He can’t be--he wouldn’t ask her out just because he’s upset that he can’t get anyone else. He’d never do that to her. If he was asking, he’d be asking for real. So she keeps her voice even and light when she asks, "What about me?"

"Are you bringing anyone to Octavia's wedding? New boyfriend? New girlfriend?"

Her exhalation of breath is half-relief and half-disappointment. "You'd know if I was. I haven't met anyone I like in a while." She manages a teasing smile. "And you don't see me whining about it."

"I could wingman you."

"No, you definitely couldn't."

He laughs and kisses her temple, and this could be enough. Just the two of them, just like this. It’s been enough for so long. He’s  _hers_. "Yeah, okay. I definitely couldn't."

*

It takes her halfway through dinner to decide something is actually  _wrong_. Being the good friend that she is, she kicks him and asks what’s up with him, and her heart plummets when he says, "Sorry, I'm just--thinking about what Raven said."

"Please tell me you're not going to try to date her now,” she says, unable to keep a scowl off her face. “Wick really likes her. He'd mope and I'd have to deal with it. He's the worst when he mopes."

"No."

It’s amazing how much better she feels, immediately. "So what did she say?"

"I'm in love with you," he says, and her entire world stops. Raven wouldn’t say it just to win a bet, right? She wouldn’t interfere like that. And he wouldn’t--he wouldn’t say that unless he really meant it. But she doesn’t even know how to begin, reacting to this. The world feels tiny suddenly; she can’t quite breathe. "It seems really obvious, you know, in retrospect,” he says, looking down at his hands. “But I didn't realize. So the dating seemed stupid."

"Bell--" she tries, but she doesn’t have anything else to  _say_.

"No big deal," he says, and she nearly laughs, because nothing in her life has been as big a deal as this is.

Instead, she nods and stands, because she doesn’t know how to be with him, and manages, "I'm gonna--I gotta go, okay?"

"Yeah,” he says, and even smiles.

She goes over to Raven’s and pounds on the door until it opens. Wick is shirtless on the couch, and Clarke just says, “Leave.”

“You talk to Bellamy?” Raven asks, mild. She glances behind her shoulder. “Seriously, leave.”

“I’m putting on clothes, Jesus,” he says. “I can tell I don’t want to be here, trust me.”

Once he’s gone, Clarke slams the door and says, “I can’t believe you! To win a stupid bet? I’d just  _give_  you fifty bucks if you want it that much, I don’t care, I--”

“That’s not why I told him,” Raven says. “It was fucking--the two of you are a  _tragedy_ , okay? I don’t know how the fuck you haven’t noticed, but you should have seen him. I felt bad for the girl he was hitting on, because he’s never going to love any of those girls like he loves you. And you  _know that_ , which is why you don’t care that he’s hitting on everything that moves. But I think basically the entire world would be happier if you two just figured your shit out.”

Clarke lets out a ragged breath. “What exactly did you tell him?”

“I told him he couldn’t get a girlfriend because he was stupid in love with you, and he just sort of stared for a while. Honestly, I got bored and left.” She looks away. “I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not. What did  _he_  say?”

“That he’s in love with me,” she says, and it still feels so unreal.

“So why are you  _here_?”

It’s a pretty valid question.

Clarke’s had a key to Bellamy’s apartment for as long as he’s had an apartment. Everywhere he’s ever lived, she’s had her own set of keys, starting with his mom’s house. 

It’s actually impossible for her to imagine a life without Bellamy Blake in it, and if this goes wrong, that’s what she’ll get.

But if it goes right, she’ll have  _him_.

He doesn’t say anything when she sits on his bed next to him, so she just lets it all out, that day in eleventh grade when she figured out how she felt, all those years of just--feeling it, almost in the background, another fact about herself: 5′5″, blonde hair, blue eyes, in love with Bellamy Blake.

"You better be sure, Bellamy,” she finally says, like she’s choking on it. “This can't just be--" 

He puts his book down, slides his hand behind her neck, and kisses her.

She’s seen him kiss a lot of people, making out behind the gym in high school until she cleared her throat and reminded him he was her ride, at the few college parties he managed to get to, at bars sometimes. She’s never seen him kiss anyone like this, slow and careful, his thumb rubbing right under her jaw, and she feels all the tension rush out of her.

He  _loves her_.

"I'm sure," he says, desperate. "I'm a fucking idiot, seriously, I'm so fucking--I love you, please, just--" 

She can’t help laughing, pressing closer, kissing him again, deeper, letting her hands run up his sides. She knows exactly how he feels, she’s been pressed up against him before, but it’s new at the same time. She’s never gotten to have  _this_. And now she can, always. As much as she wants.

“I believe you,” she assures him, and he smiles against her mouth.

*

They manage to have a conversation after he’s gotten her off twice with his mouth, fucked her, and played with her breasts until they were both ready to go again, and then she sucked his dick and he got her off with his fingers. Clarke doesn’t always believe in sex on the first date, but she definitely believes that she and Bellamy have spent long enough not having sex.

“Your entire bed is a wet spot now,” she says. 

“It’s not my fault I’m so good at turning you on,” he says, yawning and pulling her onto his chest. “There.”

“You’re sweaty,” she says, but she tucks her face against his neck and tangles her legs with his.

He kisses her hair. “You can move if you want. I’m not going to.”

“I don’t think my legs work.”

“They better not.” His hand strokes over her back. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The question is soft, not accusatory, just--curious. Maybe even a little hurt.

“I didn’t want you to--” She bites her lip, trying to explain. “I knew you loved me. You’ve always loved me. I thought if I told you, you’d feel obligated to--not  _obligated_ , just--I didn’t want you to feel like you had to or anything and if you didn’t want me then--”

His arms tighten around her. “It’s okay, I’m not--” He laughs. “It sucks we missed years of awesome sex, but I get it.” He nudges his nose against her hair. “I’m just glad you suck at dating too.”

“I’ve dated tons of people,” she protests. “I have all kinds of experience.”

“Dated everyone except the person you really wanted,” he says, smug. “Just like me.”

“Just like you,” she agrees, and closes her eyes.

*

He proposes three months after Octavia’s wedding, by painting a (very ugly) diamond ring in the (very ugly) camo mug he’s been working on forever and presenting it to her.

“You know we’ve only been dating for a few months, right?”

“Yeah, and?”

She can’t stop grinning. “I’m just saying, some people would care about that.”

“Huh. Good for them.” He kisses her hair. “I also got you an actual ring. If you want it.”

“I want it.” She pauses. “We can’t get married for nine more months.”

“Why not? Are you pregnant?”

“If we’re not married within a year of Octavia’s wedding, Raven has to give me fifty bucks.”

“Cool,” he says. “So, day after Octavia’s anniversary?”

“Deal,” she says, and they shake on it.


	21. JSTOR and Chill - Bellamy POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5234831)!

The first time Bellamy met Clarke Griffin, she was eighteen and he was twenty-three and he was helping her and Octavia move into their freshman dorm, so of course he didn't have a thing for her. It would have been creepy. And she and O had just met, so it still wasn't totally clear if they were even going to be friends, so it would have been a bad idea to get attached. But it was impossible not to notice that she was pretty and had awesome breasts, so he still felt like kind of a creep.

He didn't see her that often when she was in college, although she usually stayed with them for Thanksgiving, and she and Octavia were best friends, in addition to being roommates, so of course he'd see her sometimes. But her freshman year, she was his sister's roommate and therefore off limits, and then she was a sophomore in college or a junior in college, and therefore too young for him, and then she was a senior and probably moving away after graduation, so what was the point? He wasn't hurting for female companionship, anyway. She was just his sister's cute friend. Octavia had plenty of cute friends. It's not a big deal.

A few weeks before graduation, he and Octavia are grabbing lunch and talking about her future, and she says, "I could just move in with Clarke, but she's already got a place lined up with her friend from high school, like an asshole," so suddenly, it becomes, if not a big deal, then at least a _deal_.

"Yeah, how dare she," he says, and takes a casual sip of water. "She's sticking around?"

Octavia rolls her eyes. "Your crush on her is not at all subtle, you know that, right?"

"Subtle crushes are the worst," he says. "If no one knows I'm into someone, they don't tell me shit about them. So it must have been subtle, or you would have told me about Clarke sooner."

Octavia squints at him, and he remains placid. He's found the best way to take attention off his feelings is to just act like it's not a big deal. Denial always comes off as protesting too much, so he goes for cool and composed and whoever was making fun of him ends up second-guessing the whole thing.

He has a system.

"She's got a job doing graphic design for some giant corporation," Octavia says. "And she likes it here. So, yeah, she's sticking around."

"Cool," he says. "Keep me posted."

*

It's different, actually regularly interacting with Clarke. They see each other at least twice a week now, and she's twenty-two, out of college, gorgeous, funny, and smart. He falls for her uncontrollably, because he'd barely been holding back before this, and now he has absolutely no reason good enough to not be into her.

He also has no idea how to make a move. They're in an awkward place where they haven't really been _friends_ for four years, but they've been friendly, and if there's a trick to upgrading casual friendships into relationships, he's never learned it. So instead he just hangs out, flirts with her a little, and figures he'll come up with a plan eventually.

Instead, they move in together.

It starts out pretty innocently; they're hanging out in the bar for Clarke's friend Wells' birthday, and she slumps down on the stool next to him.

"Get shot down?" he asks. She's not generally much for bar hookups, but he did see her checking out a hot redhead earlier, so maybe she gave it a try.

"I wish." She sighs and signals Miller for another drink. "Wells is moving in with Raven. Which, you know. That's awesome for them! But it means I need to find a new apartment."

"Don't you have like four other roommates?" he asks, frowning.

"Yeah, but--" Miller slides her drink to her, and she stabs at her ice with the straw. "I don't really know them, even after a year, and it's not--I can relax around Wells, but not the rest of them. They're nice, but I have to be _on_ around them, and they're not my friends, so once Wells is gone--"

"I get it," he says, smiling. "I've got the same problem with my place, honestly. Mbege and Murphy are fine, but I spent most of my time hiding in my room."

"Yeah, Murphy isn't _fine_ ," Clarke says, making Bellamy grin. She hates his roommate, and it's hilarious.

"He could be worse. But, yeah, okay, they suck to live with. I should probably find a new place myself, honestly."

"When's your lease up?"

"September first."

"Oh, awesome, me too. That would work out really well, actually, your school is pretty close to my job, and you'd probably be a good roommate."

He hadn't mean it as a suggestion, but--she _would_ be a great roommate. So he just manages, "You want to?"

"Yeah," she says. "If we can find somewhere good."

He finishes his drink and tries not to look as freaked out as he feels. It's not even bad. It sounds perfect, honestly. But it's also the worst idea he's ever heard. "If we can find somewhere good," he agrees.

*

He doesn't tell Octavia until they've already picked out a place, and he figures Clarke must not have either, because he definitely would have gotten a talking to.

"I'm moving out of my place," he says. "I'm telling you this because I'm modeling good behavior. I don't like my roommates, so I'm moving out. That's what adults do."

"My apartment is _amazing_ , and I'm going to be the one to keep it," says Octavia. "Where are you moving? Do you have a new place yet?"

He takes a deliberate drink of his water and instantly regrets it, because it's such a fucking tell, and Octavia knows it. "Yeah, Clarke found something."

The pause is long enough Bellamy nearly says something else, but Octavia says, "You're moving in with Clarke," flat, before he's come up with a follow-up of his own.

"I like Clarke," he says. "Wells is moving in with Raven, so she was looking for a new roommate. Seemed like a good idea."

"Most people," Octavia says. " _Most people_ just _ask girls out_. Before they _move in with them_."

"I'm getting the feeling you disapprove," he says, drumming his fingers on the table. "My way's more efficient. Why bother with the whole dating thing when you can just move in with someone and skip all the boring making out and sex and get straight to arguing over whose turn it is to do the dishes?"

"You're making it sound like that's a joke, but you totally have pathetic fantasies about being being domestic with Clarke. Like, I'm sure you want to hook up with her too, but don't pretend you don't want to bicker about what you guys are going to watch on TV tonight or when you're going to go grocery shopping. That's totally a kink for you."

"As always, my favorite thing about these conversations is that you know all my lines, so I don't have to be here." He almost asks if she really thinks Clarke would go for it, really dating him, but it feels way too middle school, for one thing, and also gossiping with his sister is actually his idea of torture. Octavia gossips at him; he doesn't gossip back.

She regards him for a minute, and he takes another drink of water. Finally, she sinks back in her chair with a huff and says, "So, when do you move?"

"September first."

"Am I gonna be in your side of the wedding party or hers?"

"I figured you'd just jog back and forth from side to side in front of the altar. Joint custody."

She rolls her eyes. "You're hopeless, Bell."

"I know."

*

They move in on the first, except it's a Tuesday, and also the first day of school for Bellamy, so Clarke takes a half day and moves her stuff, and then picks him up when he's done so they can throw all his belongings into the truck, unload them as quickly possible with Miller and Octavia's help, and then collapse on their couch, which they just sort of dropped in the middle of the living room. It's going to be a nice place, once they're moved in. Right now it's just boxes and sadness. He _hates_ the first day of school.

"I really want eggrolls," Clarke says. "How do you feel about eggrolls?"

"Pretty neutral, but I could go for sweet and sour chicken. You know anywhere good?"

"I like Wok On," she says. "Mostly because I still find wok-related puns in Chinese restaurant names hilarious."

He has to smile. "I like Wok On too. Do you have the number?"

"Yup, but I'm touching my nose, so that means you have to call."

He laughs. "I didn't agree to that."

"The rules of last-one-to-touch-your-nose are very strict, Bellamy," she says, leaning her head against his shoulder, so casual and friendly it makes his heart stutter. "Without rules, society will descend into chaos."

"That checks out. Give me your phone."

They don't have internet hooked up yet, but Clarke has some weird Cartoon Network series downloaded to her iPad, and they set that up on one of her moving boxes, watch that with their shoulders brushing together as they eat takeout. He ends up falling asleep on her, rouses only when she shakes his shoulder.

"We did get your bed set up. You don't have to sleep on the couch," she tells him, and her eyes look so fond. He nearly tells her she should come with him, but he manages to quash the urge.

"It's way nicer than my old couch," he says, but he makes himself move away from her, stands and yawns. "But you're right, I've got school tomorrow. You good? We don't need to do any other housekeeping stuff for the first night?"

"No, I'm set." She looks down at her lap. "I'm really glad you wanted to move in with me," she says, soft, almost like it's a secret. 

"Yeah. Me too."

Her face brightens with a smile, and he realizes for the first time that this girl might actually break his heart. It's never happened before. He didn't know the warning signs. "Night, Bellamy."

It's too late to do anything but smile back. "See you tomorrow, Clarke."

*

The thing is, Bellamy _is_ domestic. He's domestic in a way he thinks guys aren't supposed to be, honestly; he's heard all these stupid stereotypes about how men are supposed to just be interested in sex, and he loves sex, obviously, but he's also always been a caretaker, for as long as he can remember, responsible for taking care of his house and his sister while his mom worked. He likes having people around, likes shopping lists and figuring out cleaning schedules and having nights at home, relaxed and easy. Like Clarke, he tends towards introversion, and he loves how comfortable he is with her, how he never feels like he has to impress her, even as he _wants_ to impress her. She likes him, quiet, sarcastic him, the one who doesn't try to be charming and flirty and arrogant.

She's his favorite person to hang out with, basically, and it would be scary if it wasn't so great.

He's the one to suggest they could maybe start letting their friends come over, once Miller asks, in a pointed way, if he and Clarke ever come up for air. On the one hand, Bellamy knows he's just asking because he probably doesn't see Monty as much as he wants to without Bellamy and Clarke helping organize across their two groups, but just because he's living with his crush doesn't mean he should totally abandon Miller. He's sort of a decent wingman, when he tries.

But neither he nor Clarke is really prepared for the onslaught of guests.

Octavia organizes a house-warming party. Monty and Miller set up a weekly game night. Wells and Raven aren't allowed to cook meat in their weird hippie commune, so they bring steak over and cook it for Clarke and Bellamy instead. It's all really nice, and well-meaning, and _fun_ , and Bellamy feels like an asshole for being exhausted by two non-stop weeks of spending time with friends until Clarke says, "Oh, thank god, Wells isn't coming over," on Sunday, with so much relief that there's no doubt she's just as tired of hosting people as he is.

He'd been on his way to hide in his room--Wells is Clarke's friend, not his, so he could reasonably bail on that one--but detours to flop down on the couch next to her instead. "Jesus fucking Christ, it's like having a bunch of really needy dogs." She laughs, and he lets his head drop onto her shoulder. "I really don't want to do anything tonight. How do you feel about history documentaries?" He's never bothered to get a Netflix account of his own, but hers is full of cool shit he's never seen; he's been waiting for a chance to check it out.

"That sounds like something I can fall asleep watching. In a good way," she adds, when he sort of half-glares at her.

"Philistine. This is Ken Burns, okay? Civil War. It's gonna be awesome. He's a master, Clarke."

She pats his shoulder, absent. "Uh huh. I'm just saying, I'm not, like, a total introvert? But I need a lot more me-time than I've been getting."

He sits up, feeling guilty. He knows exactly what she means, and it was stupid of him to assume that just because he likes being around her even when he's done with everyone else, she feels the same. She probably just wants to chill out and do her own thing for the first time in two weeks. "Do you want me to go watch in my room?" he asks. "I can do it on the laptop if you want to be alone. I get that."

He's on the verge of saying something more, backtracking even harder, but she says, "No, you're fine, you don't count," in a voice so fond and easy that it makes his heart flip. He's glad she immediately keeps talking, because otherwise he'd probably say something really, really ill-advised, like--well, he doesn't even know. But hearing she wants to be with him even when she wants to be alone is basically the high-point of his year.

She curls up around him, sleep, warm, and so close, and he gets the documentary started and it's just--he loves their friends. He does. But this is so fucking _perfect_.

*

He's not sure what to do with the rest of the group's insistence that he and Clarke are dating. It feels like the kind of thing he should be able to leverage into the two of them _actually_ dating, but he doesn't really know how. And the more time he spends with her, the scarier it gets, telling her and risking this awesome thing he's got going with his beautiful roommate who likes snuggling and watching dorky shit on Netflix. So he just figured he'll stick with his usual nonchalance and eventually figure out how to ask if she wants to make out.

"We're getting this," she informs him. It's Sunday, which is basically their day; they run errands and go grocery shopping and watch Netflix in the evening. It's his favorite.

He raises his eyebrows at the can of whipped cream. "I'm not sure why you're telling me. It just goes in the cart. I'm not going to stop you putting it in the cart."

"We also need something to put it on," she says. "I'm open to suggestions. Pie? Cookies? One of those pies that's also a cookie?"

"Just squirt it directly into your mouth. Cut out the middle man."

"If we do that, we have to get two. So we can have a fight."

He laughs. "I could be old and dignified."

"Old, definitely. Dignified, nope. We're Facebook friends. I have seen all your humiliating college pictures."

"You wish. There are so many more of those that aren't on Facebook. Go get another can."

She grins and goes back where she came from, and he definitely doesn't stare at her. He's not in love with her, and his life is not totally pathetic.

A voice saying "Mr. Blake?" startles him from his not-staring, and he sees Andi and George from his AP class. They're both involved in the cross-country team, and judging from their cart they're buying supplies for some event.

He resists the urge to look down to make sure he's wearing something non-embarrassing--he knows what he's wearing, it's definitely jeans and a Batman t-shirt--and offers them a smile instead. He thought running into teachers out of school was weird when he was a student; it turns out it's even worse from the other side.

"Hey, guys. Supply run?"

"We've got our first race on Saturday, this is for the spaghetti dinner on Friday," George explains. 

"I'm impressed by your foresight," he says. "Good to--"

Of course, that's when Clarke comes back. "I got three more," she says, dropping the cans into the cart. "What's the point of a whipped cream fight if you're not dual-wielding?" She seems to notice the students, and even puts together who they are, but that mostly just means she shuts up, not that she offers any help with the situation. 

"Whipped cream fight is definitely code for a legitimate adult activity," he says, and nearly kicks himself, because that just sounds like he means sex.

"It's the way we make it through balancing the apartment books," Clarke says, which is kind of a decent save. Obviously, his students are still definitely going to think she's his girlfriend, but they can join the fucking club. "Many things about being an adult are terrible."

"Don't scare the students," he says. "Guys, this is my roommate, Clarke. Clarke, Andi and George from my AP class."

"Hi. Mr. Blake is definitely a dignified adult who's not going to go home and spray whipped cream at me."

"You're not helping at all," he tells her. "Go get meat or something. Something with nutritional value."

"Sure thing, Mr. Blake," she says, cheerful, and takes off again.

He turns his attention back to the students, who look amused on a level he is not prepared to contemplate. "Is there some sort of cross-country fundraiser I can throw money at to get you guys to forget you ever saw me outside of school hours?"

Andi gives him a somewhat pitying look. "We'll keep you posted."

Clarke texts him to make sure it's safe to come back, and they meet in the cereal aisle. "I'm really sorry," she says. "I was honestly trying to help."

"Yeah, no, there wasn't a good way to salvage that situation," he says, and bumps his shoulder against hers. "On the bright side, there are way worse things in the world than a couple of students thinking my weekends involve licking whipped cream off my incredibly hot girlfriend."

He expects her to laugh it off, but color creeps up her neck. "As long as I'm helping your reputation," she says, voice not _quite_ normal, and Bellamy's heart lodges somewhere in his throat.

The next Tuesday, Octavia finds out about documentary night, and the next Saturday, he texts her and asks, _If you were hypothetically going to try to date Clarke Griffin, how would you do it_

She responds, _I wouldn't, because she's in love with you. If I were you, I would LITERALLY JUST ASK_

As advice goes, it's not bad. It's probably worth a shot.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Neeeeeeeeeerds! [Audiobook of the Entire Series]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12856200) by [bienenalster (pinkspider)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkspider/pseuds/bienenalster)




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